Blood of the Serpent
by Dagorhir
Summary: Hadrian Potter has always had the fortune of inviting misfortune to his side. When the Wizarding World's most poisonous, magical serpent finds itself in his care, he doesn't bother questioning why Fate seemed to utterly despise his very existence. When he realizes it's Lord Voldemort, he realizes Fate doesn't only hate him, but it's also psychotic and out to get him.
1. 20, September 2016

**Chapter One: A Cold Day In Hell **

* * *

Jeering. Jesting. Cold, Hateful Comments.

These were things Hadrian James Potter knew, more so than the average person. Fame, it would seem, did little to lessen the impact. Hurtful words, they bled the flesh as easily as any blade or spell. Professor Snape was right: fame _wasn't _everything.

Not that it ever had been, but that was beside the point. The _issue _at hand, truly, was the fact he was, once more, sprinting. That was at the heart of the problem, and this, too, was something Harry had plenty of experience in.

Running.

He'd spent most of his life running. From his birth, there was Voldemort. The dark wizard had destroyed his family and orphaned him. Now, every year, he was out to kill him in one fashion or another. After his first year, there was the Dursleys and the general population of Little Whinging, Surrey. Family and community, these were supposed to be items of worth, of love and protection. Neither he knew much of, at the tender age of fifteen.

Was he fleeing? No, that he was not. Surviving another summer? Certainly.

The truth of things, however, were not so easily avoided. Voldemort's return, being at the top of the metaphorical iceberg. Cedric's death, right beneath. Two issues, both personal.

One was a madman out for his blood, and the other was a dear friend who had taught him there was nothing wrong with being _different. _He now would rather not be thinking of such differences, though many Cedric had not been able to explain before his untimely death.

No, his mind was occupied by Dudley and his rat-faced gang.

Oh, how he _loved _Harry Hunting. A lovely game, truly.

So Hadrian "Harry" Potter ran, and did not look back. The streets were familiar, the turns comfortable. The heat was one of the two. Familiar, yes, but comfortable? No, it would be a cold day in hell before he'd enjoy the hot, humid misery of his life.

Shirt soaked and stuck to wet skin did not make for a favorable experience in outrunning his larger, stockier cousin. Don't get him wrong: he _did _enjoy warm weather. He liked it a far lot more than he liked the cold. His dislike for the second grew after the second year, and his weatherly preferences were met in Gryffindor Tower.

It was always _just right_, in terms of heat. Not too hot. Not too cold.

In the end, though, movement was his truest friend. Lungs burning, gaze blurred from a lack of glasses perched on his nose. Muscles burning, a grin in place. The steady, sharp swing of his arms, blood pumping through his veins. Even the erratic buzz of magic under his skin was a thing of beauty, a thing of danger ready to unfold at the smallest of nudges.

Smaller things, those he could ignore. Readily so. The sharp sting of salt-laden sweat getting into the open gashes on his back, those were minor. Skin broken by the hard hit of a belt, metal cutting skin. The burns along his arms from fumbling at the stove. A long scar along his side, letters carved eternally into his flesh.

Two words: _Never Forget_.

They were ones he would keep with himself, his to keep to the grave. Rounding a bend, Harry grinned. The sound of pursuit, the steady pattern of boots and shoes on asphalt, was fading. Soon it was only his own feet on the ground. Harry relished in the end of the chase.

It was impossible to not enjoy it, not when the thrill was so great. The off-chance of getting caught, the possibility of a beating no one would stop? It made the urge, the drive, to stay on the run, to never get caught, all the more potent. It was like a drug, really, in how it pushed him forward without any thought or hesitation.

Every cut was a reminder.

Every bruise a lesson to be learned.

And every scar was a mystery, an untold story.

So he ran, keeping each reminder, each lesson, and each story to heart. Fifteen short years sown into his skin; Harry slowed into a trot, huffing but smiling. He laced his fingers together, and arched his arms into the air. Shoulders and fingers popped, muscles stretching with the fluid movements.

Harry cracked his neck, laughing softly at the way it popped. How were the others, he wondered? Hermione had sent him a message, not all that long ago. She was worried. The message between the lines, the way her words were slanted and pressed close together, said as much. His friends, they were unable to say much.

Their letters could be intercepted at any moment. Yet Harry couldn't help but wonder where his friends were staying. Was Dumbledore there? Was everyone together? Were they all safe? Was Remus getting his medicine? Was Sirius safe with the Ministry and Dementors at large? And, at the very back of his mind, he wondered who he could truly trust, and when they would betray him.

Adults tended to do that. It wasn't _their _fault, per say. It was wired in their DNA, the need to lie and lock away key truths. His friends, they were likely at Sirius's place. Whatever messages they sent, they would be looked over. Albus Dumbledore, that was the first name that came to mind. A trusted teacher, too, could be looking over any correspondences.

Wouldn't want him to know more than he should, right?

He was _here_, in this hellish place, because it was _safe_.

But was it? Harry wandered Little Whinging, and none were the wiser. No magicals leapt out of the bushes to usher him inside with terrified glances over their shoulders. There were no harsh and angry looks, other than the people living around the Dursleys who believed him to be some gangbanger out to destroy them all.

The mere thought made him laugh. If they really knew what he did for them, they wouldn't be so quick to judge him. Weren't adults supposed to be the ones who did something about shit like this? As Harry rounded a corner, panting, he couldn't help but to laugh.

_They should, _he knew. _They just_ _didn't care_.

Plopping down on the first flat, upraised platform he could find, Harry exhaled. Resting back on his elbows, gaze on the darkening sky, he frowned. Only a few months. It hadn't been long, since Voldemort returned, but nothing was coming up. Granted, his _friends _were proving to be nothing but useless, in that matter.

The local news station was worthless. Even the internet had nothing, the few times he had managed to get his hands on a search engine. Not that he had much to work with. Muggles and Voldemort did not exist in the same sentence. They knew nothing about him, unless they had a family member or close friend in some form of magical school.

But, really, what did _they _know?

He liked being in the dark. The sky was opening up, thousands of small stars beginning to flicker into view. So he opted to relax, to take in the sounds, the sights, the smells, and turn his mind away from the resurrected Dark Lord. Hogwarts began in a few days.

Not all that long, now.

Hedwig was off doing who-knew-what. Maybe she'd spy the Dark Lord during one her long, lonely flights. Perhaps she would see him from a distance, as he traveled wherever he went when he wasn't hunting his prophesied enemy. Harry grinned. If he was out and about, and his dear owl near, she'd see him without doubt.

Looking like the love child of a dead man and a snake would be impossible to miss. Right?

It should be.

Blinking, Harry groaned. He was thinking about Voldemort once more. It was hard not to think about him, considering the hell he made Harry's life be. So, rising to his feet, Harry made his way from wherever he had found himself, towards some distance place, with a slow exhale.

The truth was simple, really. He _could _explore. He _could _keep on running. In the end, however, he had to face his monsters. They would never leave. They would always be in some dark, shadowy place. And, above all else?

They would always be waiting.

* * *

**Author's Note**

As I had mentioned, I am redoing this story. Each chapter will be structured like this one. The title and chapter name at the top, the story in the middle, and a possible AN from me at the bottom. No more intros at the beginning. It'll make the story a bit smoother to read, I think. As is, I'll leave this as is. I do have another chapter, but, before I post _that _one, I need to finish the third one now that I'm in the middle of remaking BOTS.

BOTS. Makes me laugh. _BOTS._

I hope you enjoy the new and improved _Blood of the Serpent. _

It'll come out chapter-by-chapter. So enjoy, favorite, follow, and, if it you please, _review_.


	2. 22, September 2016 (A)

**Chapter Two: Hogwarts Express**

* * *

Leaving the Dursleys was always a pleasant feeling.

Getting out of that house, getting to go across London. Small things, really, but so very important. Small glimpses of paradise after so long in darkness. It didn't matter he had to sit in a car with his _esteemed_ family, shoulder throbbing in pain. It didn't matter if he was the one who had to keep to his cousin's side, stiff and pressed against the door.

No, what mattered was the train station, the wall with '9' and '10' on either side of it, and the feel of magic washing over him as he passed between them at 9 ¾ with a wide, ear-splitting grin. That rolling feel of magic, it was a pleasure to behold, but not the one which drew him upright with a wide sense of being _right_.

The true pleasures were his friends waiting for him, Hermione being the first to envelope him in a hug. Ron, wide grin in place as his lanky form towered over others in their own year. The near-savage grin on Ginny's face, always a terror to behold. The dreamy distance Luna held, a hint she knew something but wasn't about to share. And then there was Neville's gentle blush, a plant tucked between quivering hands.

These were his moments, his happiness, and, as they entered the train, the times of his utmost horror. They always had questions. Unending, relentless, 'I don't care if you're not comfortable' questions. So Harry was stuck, once more, in a place and time where he could only ride out the events, smiling at his friends' antics.

"Yeah, mum was _pissed_." Ron was saying, and Harry felt a grin building. The redhead was smiling, all teeth, and even Ginny was suppressing a wide, hard grin. She wasn't sitting still, either. Hair pulled up, she looked ready to fly. Ron leaned in, silent for a moment, before saying, "Then, before anyone knew what was happening, the table started to shake. _Boom-Boom-Boom! _Percy looked ready to start screaming."

Hermione had set her book aside, a disapproving look marring her brow. Neville looked as pale as the past-Percy Ron was describing. Luna was, well, being Luna. She was reading a book upside down, but by the occasional, airy giggle she gave told Harry she was paying attention to the story their redheaded friend was telling.

Harry turned his gaze back on Ron as the ginger jumped up. "Then, _whoosh! _The table went flying, right out the window. A gap in the wall! Shattered plates and mush-for-food!"

"Mum was _furious!" _Ginny put her own two-cents in. She rose to her feet, and Ron dunked to sit on the chair as Neville tossed a Chocolate Frog into his mouth. The youngest Weasley looked over the small gathering. "It was obvious. Our home has had no ghosts since the parting of our great-grandfather, when Charlie was a baby. She turned, her gaze falling on the _only _two who could have conjured up something of this magnitude..."

"And it was Fred!" Ron exclaimed, butting in. Ginny leveled an even glower at her brother as he rose, arms wide stretched. Harry chuckled. Leave it to Ron to take the spotlight. It was one of the few things he was good at. Tell tall tales. The redhead kept going, eyes alight with happiness. "He was making a run for the door, but mum was faster. She whipped out her wand, _roared with rage, _and then our brother was on the ground, unmoving!"

"I thought mum killed him, so into her anger!" It was neither of the youngest who spoke, but from the doorway leading into the rest of the train. Harry turned, catching sight of the grinning twins, one of two a tad paler than normal.

Harry bit back a snort of amusement. George leant against the wall, smiling as he continuing, "It was an _impressive _show of nonverbal magic, on mum's part. Hit the wrong target, though. One of them, as it turns out to be! One twin is as guilty as the other."

They all laughed, easily envisioning the tale that unfolded. Harry couldn't help the grin spreading across his face. The twins. Another set of his makeshift family. It wasn't long before the girls were leaving, going to their own compartment to change. Harry already wore his robes. They were nicer than the clothing the Dursleys had for him.

That, and he didn't want to change in front of the others.

So he turned his head away, content to watch as the small village outside Hogwarts slowly creep closer. They pulled into the train station. Unloading was an easy process. They didn't have to gather their belongings; house elves did that for them, knowing where each suitcase went even if only a name was listed.

Sometimes the things they knew was scary. Harry followed the rest of his group across the white, snowy ground. Groups of students milled about, waiting for friends to come together. It was easy to spot certain groups, like Malfoy and his friends. A few ravenclaws waved as Harry passed, and he offered them a sharp grin.

Hufflepuffs kept their heads down. Harry watched a few of them, curious. Not much was known about those students. The other houses rarely even bothered to care. Cedric came to mind, then. Tanned and smiling, always eager to help and repaying school loyalty with school loyalty even if it meant cheating.

Harry's gaze shifted to the carriages bound to take them to the school, and the beasts who drew them forward. Horses of Death. Death's Horses. Luna was eyeing them too. They had already spoken about how she could see them. It was a brief encounter, almost _easy _to forget. Second year; she had gotten lost, and he had stumbled into her in the hallway after curfew had passed.

She had been a tiny first year, like he himself. They were the same height, regardless of the difference in age. Not knowing why, Harry had sat in an empty classroom with her, both of them tucked under his Cloak, and had fallen asleep. She had woken him an hour before he usually got up, and he was able to get into Gryffindor Commons before his friends were even up.

It was a miracle, really.

So, as they made their way into the building, Harry quietly excused himself from the group. He wasn't hungry. When Hermione leveled a stern look on him, Harry tucked his head next to hers, voice light as he said, "No worries, Herms. Just fill me in on anything important. I think even the smell of food will make me sick, at the moment."

She looked him over, and, after a moment, sighed. "We'll see you after the feast. I'll bring up some broth and juice, too, just in case your appetite comes back."

They split ways easily, and he vanished soundlessly. He'd rather have a few hours to himself in his home, before the halls were filled with sound and riots and laughter. So he set off, feet carrying him silently through the building. He was finally back, after several months of torture. Another year. Another murder attempt in the making

For now, though, he would enjoy himself while he had time.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Okay, first off, it might be a good idea to know this part will always be down here. Just incase I have anything to say. As you have read, I did make a few changes. Such as meeting Luna Lovegood in his second year instead of his, what, fifth? It's not all that easy to remember, given it was so long ago that I read the books. I'm working on buying them all. Lovely series, and one that I can never hope to stand on even-ground with.

The third update should be done sometime soon. I have the next two days off, and I'm also working on an original short-story on FictionPress. Horror-based and also a fantasy. Anyway, this chapter is done and over with, so onto the next!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I do hope to see a review or two.


	3. 22, September 2016 (B)

**Chapter Three: Voldemort's Dilemma**

* * *

Returning home was an event all children looked forward to.

Harry, he wasn't any different in this. Wandering the halls of Hogwarts, it was a pastime he took a great deal of pleasure in. While his friends ate and listened to whatever news was passing around, all likely the same content, he was content to explore. In a way, it was as if Hogwarts herself was reaching out to him, enveloping him in her magic. He wondered if this was what it felt like, to be held in a mother's arms.

Returning home, it was a good thing. Mostly. As Harry turned into an old, unused hallway in some dark, unused corridor of the school, he knew he was being naive if he wanted a good year. To even think of asking for a year without any trouble was like asking Voldemort to go back in time and _not _kill his family for whatever reasons the man may have had.

It wouldn't happen; so he didn't ask. Or pray. Or _beg, _even, because all of that would be a pointless endeavor. He'd likely have his relatives treating him like royalty before the Dark Lord decided to not try and kill him, because, frankly, going after a _teenager _was an insult.

To both of them.

_Who actually thought I'd be a match for him? _Harry snorted, content to run a hand through his hair as he made his way into an abandoned classroom. He paused, tugging on the ends of his hair as he muttered, "I really need to get a haircut. This is getting ridiculous."

Even with Hogwarts wrapping her magic around him, Harry couldn't deny his own, dark personal truth. Something wasn't sitting right with him. There was an itch under his skin, a sickening twist within his gut, that made him shit with unease. As he entered Gryffindor Tower, he jotted the feeling down to the fact someone, _every year,_ tried to kill him.

His Defense professors, for the most part. Most were horrid examples of teachers, minus a few. Remus and the fake Mad-Eye, to name the exceptions. Werewolf and Death Eater. Both _'dark,' _so to speak. One looking out for him, and the other?

_Thinking of it, Crouch could have killed me at any point. Crouch. That was his name, right?_ Harry frowned, pausing in the middle of the Common Room, and shook his head. Who cared what the man's name was? The truth was the fact there were others who were more than happy, more than willing, to try and kill him. _Lucky me._

As the raven-haired teen floated up the stairs to the dormitory, he idly wondered _where_ the Headmaster found these people. A possessed professor, for one. The man had a face on the back of his head. How had Dumbledore _not _noticed? A memory of Voldemort had found its way into Hogwarts, thanks to one Lucius Malfoy, and nearly killed Ginny. Back in Riddle's timeline, surely the staff knew giant spiders _didn't _have eyes that could kill.

If not most of the staff, than the professor lording over Care of Magical Creatures should have known, for starters. Yet, once again, _not a soul _said a single bloody word. What was _wrong _with the magical world?

Scowling, Harry plopped onto his bed, back flat against the warm comforter of his bed.

So it was natural, really, Harry was uneasy about being back at Hogwarts. Two different emotions, both present, and neither really supposed to be felt at the same time. Relief and a lingering sense of dread. Damn Voldemort and his desire to off a schoolboy, no matter if he waited till the end of _every _year to do so. He still came after him.

Maybe that was why he had sought the quiet.

There was a stillness to the dorm, quiet and empty in the late hours of a day soon to change. He rose, knowing it was better to be moving than idly thinking. As he slipped off his robes, easing into his night clothing, tension trained from his body.

As he set the last of his books on the table, his gaze focused on the black and purple wrist peeking out of his sleeve. Hadrian didn't think anything could ruin his day, not even the mark wrapped around his wrist. He was home.

Four years finished, and the fifth begun with a war on the horizon. Home nonetheless. It brought out a ghost of a smile, and a sense of warmth flooded him. As he glamoured the bruises into an illusion of nothingness, he watched his skin mold back into a pale, milky white. The raven-haired youth smiled, and, with practiced movements, downed a few pain-killers he had snatched from Petunia's kitchen before running a hand through his hair.

The strands slid easily between his fingers, the tips brushing past his chin. It was hard to believe that, merely _five years ago, _he had been a small and scared child locked in the dark. While thisworld of magic and mystery had its downfalls, it lacked a family with the Dursley name, and, for that, he could barely contain the rush of bliss that raged in his body at the thought.

_Who would be teaching this year? What professor would reside of Defense? _Harry exhaled as he sat on the end of his bed, foot restlessly tapping the floor. Would they get another Remus Lupin or another Death Eater in disguise? _Frankly, as long as they can teach, I don't care..._

Harry rose, and gathered his Invisibility Cloak. The material slid between his fingers like water, fluid and graceful and wondrously cool but with a lingering sense of warmth. There was a faint sense of _something _in the fabric, as if it had a magic all its own. As Harry placed the Cloak in the bottom drawer of his dresser resting at his bedside, he couldn't help but think that, given last year's competent professor, _this year _was going to be shot and killed.

That was how it seemed to go. It was always how it went, really.

First Year: Not a good start, really, now that he thought about it. Being taught by a possessed professor wasn't all that well.

Second Year: _Worse_. Tom Riddle, a genius from the past, came back to haunt the school. Literally and figuratively.

Third: Good. He met Remus and Sirius. The Dementors were an added bonus, in their own way. Somewhat.

Forth: A Mix of Good and Bad. He didn't even want to think about what happened.

This Year: Harry _knew _it was going to revert into something he, and likely the entire school population, was going to hate. It was that sense of something he liked to call intuition, and he knew better than to ignore it.

Adding the extra uniform into the dresser, he closed it and stood.

"Harry," The raven-haired youth turned, meeting his gaze before he blinked at his friend.

_Was the Welcoming Feast already over?_ Harry dusted off his pants, gaze on Ron. The lanky teenager stood in the doorway, silent as blue eyes swept over him. A frown marred his friend's brow. Ron's lips pressed into a tight, white line for a moment before he said, "You coming down or what? Hermione's beside herself. Not to mention the _planner…"_

There was a small smile, then. Harry followed Ron down the stairs, into the Common Room where the others were sitting. Hermione, hair wild and untamed, looked up from the stack of papers she was looking over. _She would be a good teacher_. The image of her standing in front of a classroom of young children, it brought a sort of inner peace Harry needed.

When she turned fully, she had a small saucer in her hand. She passed it over after he sat by the fireplace, and place a cup of warmed juice at his side while also cradling two agendas in her arms. Reclining in his seat, Harry smiled as she said, "I got a copy of our classes for this year, and a course overview. Given Professor Snape's general dislike of us, I thought it necessary to outline what to expect and added some additional reading to the back..."

She paused, then. Harry sipped at his drink, Killing Curse gaze narrowed on her. She shifted from one foot to another, and then Harry hummed under his breath. At his side, Ron groaned before saying, "Blimey, Hermione. A _planner? _Really?"

Harry hid his grin behind his cup as Hermione squared her shoulders. She reminded him of a muggle arm commander, then, as she stared down her nose at the lanky teenager. He watched as she stepped forward, gaze narrowing as she asked, "Do you want to pass?"

"Pass what?"

"Your classes, Ronald!" Hermione leaned in, nose-to-nose with the redhead as Ron shrank away as she pressed on, "This is our fifth year, Ronald Weasley! Classes are about to take a turn, and _we _have to make the best marks possible if we want to go anywhere!"

"Why now!" Ron protested, eyes wide as he threw his hands up when Hermione stepped forward, his voice breaking as he added, "Classes haven't _even started yet, _and you already have our days outlined! How did you get the class list, anyway? The professors haven't even _handed them out!"_

One trimmed, brown eyebrow arched into a curly mane of hair. Harry shook his head, his emerald gaze lightening as he watched the two with a faint smile. He set aside his empty cup, and reached for his bowl of broth as Hermione said, "I pay attention, you dimwit. If you paid attention in class, even a small bit, then I wouldn't _have _to do this."

"I pay attention!"

_Wrong words, Ron. _Harry grinned, openly. Hermione placed both hands on her hips, and then she smiled as she stepped back. "Oh, of _course _you do. So you know there's a lot of tests this year. We have overviews of available careers possible to us."

"Uh..._yeah._" Ron muttered, some color returning to his face. Hermione smiled, and, as she turned away, she asked, "Well, since you pay _so much attention, _then tell me this. What was Lavender doing during the Welcoming Feast?"

"Writing a letter..._hey!"_

The two were nearly nose-to-nose, foot-to-foot, while the majority of their House laughed at their exchange. Harry turned his gaze to the planner he held, flipping through the pages of it with practiced ease. The subjects were detailed, and, as Harry made his way through the thick, solid book, he couldn't fight the smile threatening to emerge. It was typed, and Harry turned his gaze on Hermione.

"Luna helped, did she not?"

"How –" Hermione paused, and then shook her head. "Never mind. Of course you know."

"So what happened during the Welcoming Feast?"

Hermione scowled. Harry sat up, gaze zeroing in on her as Ron flopped on a chair across from him. Neville was walking up, at this point, with Ginny at his side. The two slowed, their gazes shifting to Hermione as the muggleborn witch said, "The Ministry placed one of their employees in as a professor. I need not say which, given it's obvious."

"One Dolores Umbridge," Harry eyed the name next to the class in the weekly schedule before he flipped through the planner. He paused at Defense Against The Dark Arts, and placed his finger on the name listed there with a slight frown. "Dolores Umbridge. Do we know anything about her?"

"Nothing." Hermione murmured. Harry shut the planner, and stood. His friends gazes were focused on him in a matter of seconds, and Harry raised one black eyebrow before he said, "I think I'm going to take a stroll. I'll be back in a bit."

He left Gryffindor Tower before anyone could say anything, slipping his robe on as he passed through the door. The halls of Hogwarts, at night, were silent. Dark. Shadows danced across the old, ancient stones with a sort of mystical playfulness, as if the school and the grounds knew something he did not.

Harry found himself outside, exhaling slowly as he rolled his shoulder. A cool breeze kissed his skin as he made his way across the grounds, gliding from one shadow to another. The Forbidden Forest rose tall and welcoming before him, unseen eyes watching him in countless numbers.

As he walked along the edge of the Forest, the moon steadily rising over the trees, a sense of calm filled him. The centaurs were watching, the silent guardians of the forest ever-watchful. He wondered what they saw, at this moment in time. What planet was rising, and what message did they read in the stars?

He was close to the lake when something else caught his attention. He slowed, head cocked to the side as the grass around him shifted and rustled. Then there was a soft, whispering voice. It was almost _easy _to think it was the wind dancing through the tree canopies, invisible fairies swirling and singing in the darkness of the night.

When it came a second time, the sibilant hiss was impossible to mistake. Harry closed his eyes, opting to stand still as a stray breeze whipped his robes around him. The grass around him, thick and heavy around the lake closest to the Forest, shifted. Closing his eyes, Harry exhaled. Around him, some unseen serpent circled.

_'Luck favors me, this night.' _Hadrian inhaled, eyes slowly opening. His gaze was on the lake, the dark waters glistening and rippling with the pure, white moon reflecting off of it. At his feet, something brushed around him. The barest of sensations. _'Finding you, it was a task I thought would be considerably more difficult than this. Yet you come unwittingly...'_

"For someone favored by luck," Harry mused aloud, his gaze on the clear, calm waters of the lake. The night was serene, and, despite the fact he _knew _whatever was circling him, a serpent of one form or another, was dangerous – he felt at ease. Relaxed. He smiled as he continued, "I can't help but wonder why you hide amongst the grass when you have found the person you have hunted."

A sharp hiss followed the comment. _'Down here, you imbecile.'_

Harry's gaze dropped to the ground, and the sight greeting him was something that had him jerking backward in disbelief. He would have tripped over his own feet if it wasn't for the thick coil pressed against the back of his heels, and Harry went down with a sharp, surprised yelp. He landed hard, glasses thrown from his face, and it was as if the air was forced from his body upon impact.

There, strewn upon the ground, partly hidden in the deep grass, coils glimmering, was one of the largest snakes, aside from Salazar's basilisk, he had ever seen. It was massive, and, as he fell and landed on the ground before it, he wondered how something _that _size went unnoticed even if it _was _part of the Forbidden Forest.

The upper part of the body lifted, the markings decorating its skin dull but flashing for a moment, a deep violet with veins of flashing silver, as it hissed, _'Finally where you belong, boy. On the ground.'_

Harry gaped at the serpent.

While he had few friendly encounters with the serpentine race, those he had spoken to were rarely hostile. Nor had they been so conceited. With the way it rose to tower over him, its skin a mixture of white, violet, and glowing silver veins, it had an air of superiority about it.

"I don't know who you are, my silver-skinned friend," Harry took a moment to breath, his gaze narrowing on the eyes holding his. He sat up, squinting, as he continued, "but humans aren't _supposed _to be on the ground. Hence why we have _two _feet instead of _four."_

_'I can think of many reasons for a scrawny thing like you to be on all four.' _The serpent hissed, and its pointed face angled to stare him in the eye. It held his gaze for many a long moment before it circled him, one thick coil draping across his lap as it added, as if it was an afterthought, from behind him, '_Though why any would fancy you is beyond me. You have little to be desired.'_

Harry felt his checks flush as shock surged through him. Did it really just go there?

A _snake?_

It was only a moment before they were eye-to-eye once again, thick coils draped around his body, and the two regarded one another in silence. The view of those eyes, like two smoldering suns encased in darkest ruby, accompanied by the pale complexion, was unnaturally familiar.

It took seconds for it to register.

The voice, the condescending tone it spoke with…he _knew _it couldn't be possible.

Yet he couldn't keep himself from uttering, voice low, "_Voldemort?"_

The serpent hissed, chin lifting higher as it replied, _'I see you are not as stupid as I had assumed. Though it did take longer than I first thought for you to piece it together.'_

Harry froze. It was the _only _thing he could do. With the massive man-snake wound around him, a rather stunning serpent despite the knowledge he had, he realized that, if the renowned Dark Lord desired it, moving would be impossible. Yet, as the two of them rested on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, he idly wondered why he wasn't dead yet.

Or why Voldemort wasn't in the process of constricting him to death.

"So…" Harry cleared his throat when those eyes focused on him, and forced himself to go on even with those eyes staring him down. "I take it you want something since you're here, and not with, you know, your followers. Or something."

_'How eloquent,' _The Dark Lord-Now-Snake hissed, attention focused on Harry himself, as he withdrew. _'I have found myself to be in a rather unlikely bind, and it would seem you and I are going to have a little __talk_.'

Harry was fairly certain he saw venom fling through the air when Voldemort spat the last word, and, while he was fairly certain a constructor couldn't be poisonous, he decided not to question it. He waited for the snake to continue, and, after a long moment, it did. _'I am in an impasse. And I need your assistance.'_

"You're shitting me," Harry stared at the Dark Lord, a snake of an impossible size ranging from nine feet to eleven, as if he had grown a second head. "You want me to _assist _you after what happened in the graveyard? Seriously?"

Voldemort hissed. _'If I did not think I could sway you, I wouldn't be here.'_

"Sway me," Harry echoed. It had not been long since Voldemort returned, flesh and blood, and now he was here. As a giant snake. The dark-haired youth regarded the serpent in silence, and took note of his current situation. The Dark Lord was coiled around him, and moving was unlikely. Harry narrowed his gaze, green irises nearly glowing in the darkness, as he met those red eyes, and, after a long moment, he said, "You obviously want something, and killing me isn't going to get it done. So let's _talk."_

_'I need your aid, Potter.' _Voldemort hissed, the silver veins flashing angrily, body tightening a fraction around his. A warning, undoubtedly, and a reprimand. The thought of the _Dark Lord _scolding him for being rude had Harry scowling, but he listened as the snake continued, _'It would seem some of my followers lack more intelligence than you, and, due to their idiocy, I found myself like this. Without a way to turn back, it is only a matter of time before my forces take action.'_

It took a moment for him to gather his thoughts, but when he did, he asked, "Hold on a moment; are you telling me you're _stuck _as an overgrown reptile? And what do _I _have to do with this?"

Voldemort reared back, fangs snapping down, as he hissed, _'Because you are the only one who can understand me, you fool! Unless you want them tearing down this school, and killing your precious friends, than you will help me.'_

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Last I checked, Hogwarts has defenses on it that are old and ancient. What makes you think I'm going to believe you? Or help you, at that?"

The serpent glowered. It glowered as much as a snake could, an expression the Dark Lord had already mastered in his new form, and it spoke levels of the man-now-snake's emotional status. The massive snake tightened around him, coils sucking his breath out of him, before the Dark Lord slammed him to the ground.

Coils draped across his body, pinning him in place, as the diamond-shaped head filled his vision. Voldemort's voice echoed in his head as easily as it filled the air around him as the elder said, _'I know you well, boy. Better than most, I dare say.'_

Harry glared.

He knew a bad situation when he saw one. He wouldn't put it past the Dark Lord to kill him out of spite, given his history, and, as he was forced prone under the heavy body of the man-snake, he realized there wasn't _anything _he could do.

With the way Voldemort was staring down at him, crimson eyes blazing with power, Harry realized the Dark Lord was using that to his advantage. The diamond-shaped head, a telling sign of a venomous serpent, something _illogical_ his mind supplied, was directly before his. The long, pink forked tongue flicked his cheek.

Resigned, Harry exhaled. "A bargain, then. I help you, and you help me."

Voldemort moved away, coils rubbing against worn clothing, and slithered across the ground. Harry sat up as the massive serpent circled, and rose the upper half of its body. Silver and violet scales glimmered in the moonlight, the body swaying side-to-side, as they regarded one another in silence. Legs crossed and hands on the ground, Harry waited.

_'Indeed,' _Voldemort finally agreed. _'You restore me to what I once was, and I will help you with something you need. You need only name your price.'_

* * *

**Author's Note**

A good deal of this chapter is much the same as it had been before, with the meeting. Harry's personality, however, has taken a mild change. For those who have already read this, or are reading ahead, I must say you are all very brave. I think some things aren't going to make all that much sense. Not yet, anyway. Good thing about writing: you can always come back and reread.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I do hope to see a review or two.


	4. 22, September 2016 (C)

**Chapter Four: Dealing With Dark Lords**

* * *

Harry slowly rose to his feet, his brow furrowed in thought. _A price, the man said. An unusual concept_, Harry mused as he regarded the serpent before him. Not just _any _snake, but the Dark Lord himself. It was something he had to remind himself of as he regarded the massive serpent draped across the lawn before him.

A wizard so powerful that people feared him. That people feared saying his name. This was someone with so much power he was capable of doing anything, capable of being anyone. Yet he Voldemort was, before _him, _due to some unknown factor forcing him into the body he possessed now.

This was a situation Harry was unsure of, one which he did not know how to handle.

Bargaining was something he knew little of, and, living with the Dursleys, it was easy enough for him to understand why. One didn't _bargain _with the Dursleys. Magic or no. Doing so had disastrous consequences, and he harbored many on his skin.

He didn't know if Voldemort's current form was from a curse or a ritual gone bad. It was hard to tell, but, as he cocked his head to the side, he realized that was only one thing he had to find out. As of right now, he knew the chances of getting away were slim.

A snake that size would be able to move faster than a boy like him could run. Even if he stunned him first, and ran second. With a Dark Lord lurking within the scaled body, Harry doubted he could escape through sheer luck. Drawing in a breath, Harry said, "There are several conditions if I'm going to help you with anything_, _Riddle. That is notup to debate."

The man-now-snake hissed, silver veins glowing for a brief moment, but the Dark Lord didn't reply. Taking that as an indication to continue, the teen plowed on. "First, stop trying to kill me while I'm in school. There's enough drama going on each year without you trying to find some way to off me."

He paused, his gaze on the serpent, and watched as Voldemort swayed to the side. It took several long moments before the serpent finally asked, tongue flicking out and tasting the air, with a subdued hiss. _'For how long?'_

Harry furrowed his brow. "After I graduate. Two years, three counting this one. That leads to the second thing; Hogwarts will have complete immunity in the war. It's a school. What exactly can a bunch of eleven and twelve-year-old kids do to you? Tickle you to death?"

A sharp hiss answered the jab, but the Dark wizard didn't issue a reply to that.

It didn't lessen the glare directed at him, but the serpent offered no objections to the demand. The teen's mind shifted to his friends, to Hermione and Ron and Sirius, to Luna and the twins and all the others he knew, as he said, "I want my friends out of the war.

"You won't single them out because they're close to me, or Hermione for being muggleborn." Harry narrowed his gaze on the Dark Lord, unfazed by the burning red suns burning into him with utter distaste. Harry exhaled, "I want them safe."

_'And if they issue the first attack?' _Harry folded his arms across his chest, expression serious, as he replied, "If they attack first, then you have every right to defend yourself. However, if they choose to not be a part of the war, then you and yours will not attempt to kill them. Agree to these terms, and I'll help."

Harry felt the weighty stare, and the silence that spread out between them was unnerving. He knew the Dark Lord was turning over the conditions, most likely trying to find some kind of loophole in the terms, but he was content. He knew what he wanted. When the minutes dragged on, Harry, biting back a sigh, edged the snake on when he said, "Take it or leave it, Riddle. It's late, and I want to get to bed."

The serpent hissed, but the fangs vanished. _'Very well. I accept these terms.'_

Around them, the air thickened and clamped down on them. Harry felt the magic surge into his being, hot and unrelenting, and drew in a tight breath as several bonds were forged. Around him, the massive serpent hissed. In anger or shock, he did not know. Despite the agreement being bound in place, Harry could not shake the awe of _who _was behind it.

Hogwarts.

The school was setting the terms in place, binding them to the agreement, for immunity. The land underneath them, and the forest shadowing them, as a second witness. Raw magic, untamed and wild, acted where the witnesses in a magical oath would. It brought a sharp grin to his face as he addressed the snake at his side, "Well, Riddle, it looks like you have to do this regardless of any objections you might find."

He turned slightly, his gaze roaming over the serpent, and cocked his head to the side. His gaze shifted back to the school before returning to the Dark Lord as he asked, "Uh, by the way…how am I supposed to explain you to everyone? I doubt anyone would take kindly to me if I told them the truth."

A sharp look was all he got in response. _'We can come up with details in the morning, but, for now, let us get inside. It is cold out here.'_

Harry eyed the massive serpent, and, after considering his options, said, "I have to carry you, don't I?"

A sharp hiss answered his inquiry.

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As it turned out, he _did _have to carry him. Smuggling in an ten-foot snake was no easy task.

With the Dark Lord wound around his waist and shoulders, Harry realized getting to the Tower was far harder than he originally planned. Without his Cloak, or the map, he realized anyone could be lurking about. It could be anyone, and he would have no way of knowing who they were, or where they were coming from, until they were upon him. He did not fancy meeting a professor in the hallway before the first day of class. Especially Snape. The thought made him shudder at the consequences of getting caught by _him _of all people.

Idly, he wondered if he should enlist Hermione's aid.

He didn't know anyone smarter, and he refused to ask the snake he bore through the halls for assistance. Instead, he crept through the hallways, keeping in shadow, and, when he finally stumbled upon the Fat Lady's portrait, he murmured the password and slipped inside. He ignored the bulging eyes boring into his back.

At the hour it was, he was surprised to see Hermione waiting for him. She was sitting next to the hearth, one leg tucked under her, and her eyes were glued to a book she was reading. Ron, sprawled across the sofa, legs dangling off the end, snored quietly. His bushy-haired friend, however, glanced up when he came into the room, and nearly dropped her book in shock the moment she laid eyes on him.

"Harry," Her voice was a sharp whisper, and what little color she had vanished as she swallowed. Harry offered a sharp grin, adjusting the coils wrapped around him as she said, "I do hope there is a _reason _you have a massive snake with you? In the _Lion's _Den, at that?"

"Long story," Harry plopped himself in one of the seats next to the fire, gaze flickering to Ron who was still sleeping. The rest of his makeshift family, there were absent. A small blessing, he knew. He focused his attention on Hermione as he said, "I found him outside."

"Found him?" She eyed the serpent, and Harry shrugged. He shifted in his place, and Voldemort moved his coils with a low hiss. Harry paused, and then grinned. "Well, he found me. Seems to happen a lot, to be honest."

The zoo before his first year, and the basilisk from his second, was reason enough. In both situations, he had found some way into encountering them close-and-personal, so he assumed the same applied for his current situation. He gently eased the snake away from his throat as he continued, "Honestly, I thought it was a bad idea to just let the big guy roam free. He sounded rather worn when we talked."

"Worn?" Harry nodded at her question. He leaned back in his seat. He thought of the small talk they had before coming into the school as he said, "From what he told me, there were some humans he came across that nearly killedhim."

Harry ran one hand down the back of Voldemort's scaled head, nail scrapping between the groves of each scale. The serpent twisted, pressing into his hand as he said, "With him being a snake, the thought of him facing off a bunch of wizards wasn't something I even wanted to _think _about…"

The image in his head was more _students _than readied wizards, but it was the truth nonetheless. Hermione's gaze softened, er voice was gentle as she said, "I understand. We should wake Ron, so that he knows."

Harry agreed. He watched as she roused the ginger from his slumber, and the moment the lanky teen turned his gaze on Harry and his guest, Ron nearly came out of his skin. The redheaded teen backpedaled_, _toppling over the couch, as he exclaimed, "Harry, mate, there's a _giant snake _wrapped around you!"

"I hadn't noticed." Harry wryly commented as Voldemort hissed, _'Bright, that one. Real bright.'_

Ron was still pale. Shaking. The redhead swallowed, and, clearing his throat, said, "You don't get it…"

"Get what?" Harry and Hermione intoned, and Ron frantically shook his head. He looked between the two of them, the sofa between him and the serpent, and Harry felt his brow furrow. As if reading the confusion, Ron exclaimed, _"You really don't get it! _That ain't no normal serpent, mate. That's a lacrimosa! A _lacrimosa, _you hear me?"

Harry glanced at Hermione, and found her to be as pale as Ron. He glanced between the two, confusion swelling in him as he asked, "And what, exactly, does that mean?"

Ron slowly circled the couch and took his seat, eyes glued on the snake. The redhead looked as if he was expecting a dangerous, and possibly fatal, spell to be thrown at him as he said, "It's _poisonous, _mate. Like, _poison _poisonous."

Hermione, her voice trembling as much as her body, swallowed. Harry could see the shock in her eyes, most likely at not being able to pinpoint the race of serpent right off the bat, as she explained, "A lacrimosa is the most deadly species of snake, Harry. They're classified as Dark, and for good reason. Not only are they poisonous, they're known for their own form of magic."

Harry's gaze slowly turned to the ruby eyes staring innocently at him. _'You're an arse, you know that? How am I supposed to explain this?!'_

Across from him, Ron warded him away with his arms. Hermione shot the redhead a stern, disapproving look, but remained quiet as the serpent hissed, _'Given the fact we can speak, Potter, you have sway over what people think. Do use your imagination.'_

"W-what did it s-say?" Hermione's voice was light, and he could see her discomfort. Sitting, with his sworn enemy wrapped around his shoulders, Harry replied, "I asked him about the magic, and he stated he couldn't use much of it. Some kind of interference, he says."

He wasn't sure if that was true or not, but, given the tightening of the coils around him, he knew the Dark Lord got the message. What with the oaths in place, there was little the menace could do in regards of _harming _the students, or the staff, around them.

Which was a blessing, Harry knew.

But he _could _terrorize them, if he wanted. Harry frowned at the thought.

A quick spell told him the time, and, with the next day sure to bring more complications and drama, he stood. He looked at his two friends, voice gentle as he said, "Look, we can discuss this in the morning. For right now, I really need to get some sleep. All things considered, tomorrow is going to be hell."

Hermione frowned, but nodded. "Tomorrow, then."

He followed Ron upstairs, and crossed over to his bed. He dropped onto it, and, with the massive serpent uncoiling to make itself comfortable, he murmured, "Any idea on what to expect tomorrow?"

Harry went about donning his pajamas as the snake answered, _'I suspect Albus will take a great deal of interest in me. Tell him the same story. We can figure out the rest as we go along. Now go to sleep.'_

Harry, curtains spelled shut, didn't need to be told twice.

Even with the various bruises, glamoured as they were, throbbing with pain, the raven-haired teen was able to find a comfortable position to lay. With the snake being so large, he felt part of the body drape over his legs before the diamond-shaped head settle his hip. Staring down at the serpent, its body sprawled across the bed.

As he settled deeper into the bed, the gentle currents of magic within the school lulled him away from his consciousness. Harry released a steady breath, content with the situation, but unable to stop the mirth from rising within.

The irony of having the Dark Lord in his bed wasn't lost on him.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I'm on a roll. I'm getting quite a few chapters up today, as some of them will have very few changes in them. Others will, and some previous chapters may not show up for a while as the story begins to progress. For those who have already read this, many of you known I am displeased by how _quick _things seemed to be progressing. So that's the main reason for the revamp of the story: I want to draw it out, flesh out the characters and get into the actual story. A solid plot.

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I do hope to see a review or two.


	5. Chapter 5

_Spirited away!?_

Hadrian swept down the hall, promptly ignoring the way the students scattered, and ignored the infuriated voice snapping at him from behind. A small Hufflepuff backed herself against a wall as he passed, and her eyes widened as she glanced at him, and then behind him. Fearful eyes. The exact opposite of a dour Potions Master, those eyes. What was Snape thinking, making such a rather obvious, not to mention _blunt, _statement. As he whirled down the next corridor, a scowl working its way onto his face, he tried to push the Potions Master from his head.

_Watching? They're always watching!_

Did Snape honestly think that, just because he was a Lion, that people would take less notice of him? Every year, attention is drawn towards him. Someone was always watching. Always. Anyone with half a brain could see that. Even if carrying a poisonous snake, let alone _Volde-bloody-mort, _around his shoulders didn't drawn the attention of the students, the staff, and the press...then something else would. Not that this _wasn't _drawing _more _attention; he knew that the curious looks, the admiration, was unlikely to ever cease.

Even as he passed Sybil, the seer tripping over the hem of her robes, a trail of angry hisses and wide, gazes filled with open hostility and fear followed the wake of his fury. He ignored both as he saw Dumbledore coming his way, eyes worried. Hadrian eyes narrowed, but he slowed regardless. Barely a moment passed before Voldemort's massive form circled his legs, angry hisses spewing from his mouth, but the youth paid the words no heed.

"Headmaster." He stated calmly as Dumbledore came to a stop in front of him. Dumbledore eyed the snake, and his gaze slowly came up to his as he asked, "If I might inquire as to what the...lacrimosa is saying?"

"He's berating me for dismissing myself in the middle of a conversation with Snape." He answered automatically, eyes glinting as his Headmaster's eyebrows vanished in his hairline. The diamond-shaped head hit his hand, and he let out an uneven breath as he knelt. He gathered the Dark Lord into his arms, and rose. It was a matter of seconds before the serpent was wound around him, the coils constricting ever-so-slightly in reprimand, and he turned his gaze to Dumbledore as the man said, "I do hope you did so for good reason, my boy. Professor Snape is a stern man, and he doesn't take such things in light."

_So I noticed. _Yet Hadrian continued to focus on the aged man before him, and felt a sliver of unease as those twinkling blue eyes regarded him in silence. It was a look he had seen countless times in the last four years, and he knew he would see it countless times during the course of his fifth year at Hogwarts. Then the elderly man smiled, and, much to Hadrian's horror, asked, "What's his name?"

"Name?"

Dumbledore smiled, a jovial look on his face, as he elaborated. "Your lacrimosa. Surely he has a name."

_'Don't you _dare _pick anything crude, boy!' _Voldemort hissed, but Hadrian ignored him. He swallowed, and, mind whirling, tried to come up with _anything _that he could use. He absently placed his hand on the agitated serpent's head, and prayed to _Salazar _that the snappish Dark Lord would not kill him. Names flew, but only one stuck in his mind. One that came, and pestered him due to Dudley and his friends demeaning an excellent movie. He met his Headmaster's gaze, and shrugged as he said, "Well, of _course _he has a name, Headmaster. Every serpent has one, I reckon."

Dumbledore hummed in response, and offered a smile to encourage him.

_Don't kill me. Please. Please, don't kill me. _

Hadrian twirled the braid around his hand. A smile crept onto his face. An irrational desire to laugh bubbled in his chest as he said. "His name, Headmaster, is Monty."

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"Granger!" Hermione glanced up from her book to see Zabini, tall and dark, gliding towards her table. She blinked in confusion as her gaze darted to the two boys she was sitting with, one which was as curious as her and the other glaring. Her gaze returned to the Italian when he pulled up a chair across from her, and sat himself at their table with an air of dramatic flare. "I _honestly _thought I wasn't _ever_ going to catch up with you!"

"Can I...help you?" The Italian chuckled. Blaise Zabini, fifth year Slytherin, smirked. Hermione blinked in confusion, and a sense of unease crept along her spine as he reclined in the seat as if he had been sitting with them since their first year. A moment passed before the Slytherin's teeth showed as he flashed a sharp grin, and his tone was casual as he said, "Most certainly, Granger."

As the Slytherin boy dug through his bag as he answered, "I'm having a bit of trouble with the history essay we were assigned, and, well, you _know _how Binns can be."

Next to her, Ron gaped. Hermione was inclined to join him, but soothed herself as she replied, "I can see how many students are displeased with being assigned homework on the first day of class, yes. Though I am certain there is more than _that _for this unexpected...greeting to take place."

Zabini grinned, and slid his notebook across the table. "I'm afraid that I had a bit of an issue keeping up in class today. For some rather obvious reasons."

"You fell asleep." Hermione noted, and the dark-skinned boy shrugged. One shoulder lifted, and he swept his bangs out of his face as he admitted, "Guilty as charged! I also know that you happen to be one of the very few people who actually can manage to stay awake during the class, and I overheard some of the other students saying something about a project for History. A big one."

"Are we seriously doing this?" Ron cut in, red-faced, as Neville shifted uneasily in his seat. "Are we _seriously _conversing with a snake?"

"Ronald!" Hermione swatted his arm, eyes narrowing when his mouth opened. Across from her, she sensed the Italian's magic curl. On her other side, Neville quickly cut in with practiced ease. Hermione cast a soft smile to the shy boy and turned her attention back to Ron, her voice coming out low, sharp, and nearly a hiss, "What is _wrong _with you, Ron? He's just asking for a bit of help on an assignment we're _all _having to do _on the first day back!"_

"He's a _snake!"_

Hermione's eyes narrowed. Ron shrank away from her, eyes wide and hands coming up in defense as she snapped, "Slytherin or not, Ronald Weasley, our studies are _not _to be taken _lightly. _Our grades determine how well we will do in the future!"

"He's a snake!"

Her wand dropped into her hand and she pointed it at him as she snapped, "I won't have you sabotaging a student's will to improve their chances of success. I won't stand for it in any _other _House, and I will _not_ stand for it here."

Hermione turned around in her seat. Across from her, Zabini regarded her with a raised eyebrow. His gaze slid from her face to her hand and the wand held in it before returning to her face. He blinked, dark eyes shifting with unknown thoughts. "Of all the things I expected to hear, that was not it. My thanks, Granger."

She returned his words with a sharp nod, and she started when a chair scraped across the ground. Nott, ever silent, dropped into the seat. Slytherin Mask in place, the brunette regarded them in silence. Ron spluttered in outrage, unable to form a coherent thought, as the Slytherin made himself at home at their table. Hermione blinked at the quiet Slytherin, and her gaze slowly shifted to the grinning Zabini.

_By the cosmos, what is going on here? _Nott didn't speak, but Zabini propelled the conversation forward as he pushed them directly into the assignment. She took in his handwriting when he handed her his notes, and she flipped through the pages, eyeing the detailed lines of his penmanship and details the Slytherin gathered before falling to sleep, and felt a bubble of hysteria building in her. Someone _other _than Hadrian was able to stay awake for more than fifteen minutes in Binns's class? Other than herself, Hermione didn't know many people, Ravenclaw included, who would stay away the entire class. How _Hadrian _managed was a mystery.

"...so I'm afraid I have to get back in the system." She blinked, and looked up from his notes. He was idly conversing with Neville, the shy Gryffindor nodding in what she thought was understanding. When Neville, nervousness aside, spoke, she blinked. "I often have the same problem. I get caught up in my own studies that I...overlook other areas of importance. Herbology often pushes everything else to the back of my mind."

_Ah. I see. _She handed Zabini his notes back, and quickly copied the rest he would need from hers. He nodded in thanks when he took them from her, and, Nott, who had previously remained silent, asked, rather bluntly, "What the fuck is up with Potter?"

Hermione gaped as Zabini elbowed his fellow Slytherin. The smaller boy shot a dark look at the Italian, but didn't amend his statement. Zabini offered a lopsided smirk, more of a grin than a smirk, as he said, "Ignore Theo. He's trying to get his head around the new addition to our school. A common process shared by all, I think. Or maybe it's just me..."

"Hadrian's lacrimosa." Hermione confirmed. It wasn't a question. She felt Ron shudder, and she patted his arm as she said, "It was a surprise for all of us when he arrived in our Common Room with him. No one was expecting it. Professors and Headmaster included."

_What do they want? _Hermione knew the other Lions were boiling with ire, a sense of fury radiating from them. Despite the slow conversation, and the intense looks and attention from the two serpents, she could feel several others glaring at her back. She ignored it in favor of the puzzle presented, and took Nott's notebook from him when he offered it. Her gaze darted over the top of the book with the _third _snake made an appearance. One that had Ron sputtering in sharp disbelief. Her own brows furrowed in confusion as the aloof Malfoy lounged in his seat, one arm folded over the back of his seat, but he made no comment.

_Why are they interested? What are they thinking? Planning? What do they want?_

"Granger, it is quite rude to stare." Malfoy drawled after several long minutes, and Hermione frowned. One pale eyebrow arched when her gaze didn't waver, and Ron, as aware of her moods as anyone in the Pride, slowly shifted away as Hermione said, "I'm merely trying to understand the source of your sudden, and rather illogical, interest in us, Malfoy. I can't quite seem to find a reason why, other than the lacrimosa."

"What? No inter-House unity?" Zabini asked, dark eyes alight with some kind of inner mirth.

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He was going to _die_.

_'Monty, Potter?!' _Hadrian grimaced. _'Monty!?'_

The raven-haired boy dunked into the library. Dumbledore walked behind him, a few books tucked in hand, but those twinkling blue eyes were focused on the snake. Every time he glanced at the elderly man, those blue eyes were always directed at him and Voldemort. Yet he said nothing. Merely walked beside them, asking innocent questions every so often. As he slipped away from the Headmaster, Voldemort hissed, _'Bloody suspicious old coot. Nothing slips past him unnoticed.'_

"You talk like he's aware." Hadrian muttered, and the coils around his shoulders tightened. _'It is possible.'_

A question was on the tip of his tongue when he stopped, abruptly, in front of his friends' table. Hermione was, as always, going with whatever was tossed her way. Even if it meant conversing with green-tied students, books sprawled out across the table between them, she plowed forward. Neville was frowning lightly, but idly moving forward in the direction the sole female in the group pushed them in. Ron, however, _Ron..._

_'If the boy gets any more color, he's likely to explode.' _Voldemort hissed. Hadrian blinked, and dropped a hand on the redhead's shoulder. Ron's gaze snapped up to him, and, grimacing at the snake, said, "We've been invaded, mate."

_'Thank you for stating the obvious, you worthless wizard.' _Voldemort hissed, and Hadrian shook his head as he slowly sat down. "I can see as much. Though I don't see any harm in a study session. Ravenclaw mingles with the other Houses, do they not?"

Ron snorted, but declined to answered.

Hadrian eased the massive serpent off of him, and Voldemort's body, a myriad of colors, found itself sprawled across the table. Hermione moved her current text out of the way before propping the book against the snake's side, an action that drew a dissatisfied hiss from the irradiated Dark Lord. Ron stared. Neville tentatively worked around the looping coils as the Slytherins took in the form before them.

"You're ticking, Hadrian." Hermione stated calmly as she copied notes from her book, and the green-eyed teen frowned.

"I was accused of being _spirited __away, _Hermes." He pulled his own books from the bag, and turned his gaze on the three Slytherins across from him as he asked, "And I did not expect to find a group of serpents at the table. However, given our new addition, I can't say I'm surprised."

Three sets of eyebrows arched, and the Slytherins smirked. Hadrian sighed, and cocked his head to the side as he asked, "And what reasons do you have to be here other than falling asleep in History. Hermes is intelligent, yes, but last I checked...none of you were all that willing to _talk _to her."

"She's enlightening company, Potter." Zabini said. "Do you really have so little _faith _in us?"

"Is it obvious?"

Malfoy drew their attention has he shifted in his seat, and he rested his elbows on his knees as he said, "Honestly, Potty, do use your head. Serpents or not, we do take the time out of our busy lives to mingle. Even with _Lions_, as it is."

Hadrian glanced at the massive serpent as Snape's words came to mind. "Well, if _mingling _is what you want to do, than I suggest we dance."


	6. Chapter 6

There were times when he questioned his sanity. There really was.

He hadn't really expected the Slytherins to take up his proposition, but, as he walked to the Great Hall the following morning, he was surprised to find Malfoy, among several others, waiting for him. The blonde was leaning against the wall next to the Great Hall's doors, one ankle crossed over the other, while Nott, Blaise, and Parkinson held a murmured conversation with one another. It halted when he closed in on them, and Ron, groggy, groaned when he realized who, exactly, was waiting from them. It was odd, true, but Hadrian merely offered a sharp smile of his own as he stopped by them.

"Waiting up for us, are you?" Malfoy's brow arched at the question, and, after a moment in silence, the blonde answered, "It is difficult to _tango, _Potty, if we don't _mingle."_

"Your words, not ours." Zabini offered, and Parkinson smirked. Nott looked rather impassive to the entire thing. Hermione blinked. Hadrian glanced at her when her magic spiked, and he took note of the narrowed, honey-brown eyes staring down the group of snakes standing in front of them. Voldemort, trailing after them, knocked his head against his leg, and offered a sharp hiss._ 'Ah, the tango. Quite a dance, that. Perhaps too difficult for a _lion _to keep up with._'

The diamond-shaped head butted his palm, and he scratched the scales with a thoughtful hum. His gaze swept over the group before settling on Malfoy, and, with a sharp smile of his own, asked, "Your table or mine?"

"Hadrian!" Ron sputtered, and wavered wildly at the Slytherins as he said, "You _can't _be offering them a seat at _our _table!"

"I have to agree on this, Hadrian." Hermione murmured, eyes narrowed. The tension mounted, a heavy veil that lingered between them that was as tangible as it was obvious. Hadrian glanced between his two friends, and asked, calmly, "So you would prefer I take back my words when I offered to mingle? To _dance, _as I said."

He caught her eyes, and watched as she worried her lip. Her gaze flickered between him and the four Slytherins standing across from them. Then at Ron, who was gaping in disbelief. After a moment, she sighed. Ron, flushed still, deflated when he turned Hadrian gaze shifted fully onto him. "Of, bloody hell! Fine. _Fine. _They can sit with us, but that doesn't bloody mean I have to _like _it."

"Not at all." Hadrian agreed, and then, as an afterthought, said, "Though it might be the other way around. I'd hate to make them feel out of place at a table full of lions."

"Are you calling us _cowards, _Potter?" Parkinson asked, and he grinned. "And if I am?"

"We're not _afraid _of a bunch of lions." Malfoy raised a hand, stilling his friends, and, after a moment, said, "We'll sit with you for breakfast, and you'll sit with us for dinner. A fair trade, I believe. Wouldn't you agree, Potty?"

"It'll do." Hadrian brushed past them after, Voldemort around his shoulders, and entered the Great Hall. A moment later, Malfoy fell into step, walking at his side, and the hushed silence, the confusion, descended seconds after. He gestured to Neville, who blinked in response, but had the others making room at their table. Many of his fellow lions were glaring, and others staring, as Hermione and Ron, with the other three at their side, made themselves comfortable. Cold scales scrapped his cheek, and, in his ear, the Dark Lord hissed, _'My, my, Boy Wonder. I would have never thought someone like _you _would know how to play this game. How...surprising.'_

"That just shows how little you really know, doesn't it?" Hadrian murmured, voice low, and red eyes narrowed angrily in response.

"Oi!" His gaze shifted to the twins as they squeezed their way in, identical grins appearing on their face. They made themselves comfortable, sitting on the other side and in the middle, and Hadrian smiled. Fred and George, sitting across from him, merely raised their brows and asked, "What's the occasion? Never thought to see a Slytherin at our table, let alone _four _of them!"

"I believe we're going for 'House Unity,'" Zabini offered as he filled his plate. He glanced up, dark eyes alight with something close to mischief, and, with a sly smile, the tanned boy added, "It'll be hard for Draco and Potter to _tango _if our Houses are _constantly _at each others throats."

Dean and Seamus chocked on their juice, faces glowing, and Neville gaped. His fork clattered to the plate. Ron was sputtering in outrage, and Hermione had a distinctly red _glow _that arched over her cheeks. Hadrian blinked, and, turning his gaze to the blonde next to him, asked, "Seems like our secrets out, isn't it?"

Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "A secret has to exist for it to escape, Potty. Our childhood antics don't apply."

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Luna Lovegood, Ravenclaw fourth year, watched the odd group of students leave the Great Hall.

Slytherin. Gryffindor. An odd mixture of students from the Pride and Den, respectively, and she wasn't sure what the two groups, bunched together, could be called. Not to mention the obvious conflicts the two groups have had since their first year. She may have not been there when it started, but she knew much of what happened. As far as she knew, _everyone _was aware of the tension between the Slytherins and Gryffindors. The ones in their fifth year was said to be even worse. So why the sudden mingling in public?

It was a question she filed away to ask the rest of the Nest. Surely someone would have an idea on what to call the willing intermingling of a snake and lion.

She set down her magazine, and slipped her wand into her hair behind her ear for safe keeping. She knew what everyone around her was thinking.

She had seen their looks. Those students were stepping on toes, sitting together like they were. She wasn't sure why, really, when Slytherin often mingled with Ravenclaw. Perhaps it was because of the differences between the two Houses? The history between them, and the misconceptions both grew like mold on fruit left in the cold for too long. Perhaps she should approach the raven-haired snake-whisperer and offer a few suggestions on how to ease everyone's tensions? To smooth over the sharp nails the nargles were intent on sinking into his brain.

Or how to get those small, gleefully-laughing imps away from him. They followed, small and skittering across the ground, with dark intent.

Yes, she would definitely have to talk to him.

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"You can't be serious."

Hadrian sighed, and turned his gaze to his friends. Ron and Hermione were openly staring at him, and, as he watched the Slytherins vanished around the bend, he raised a brow. His gaze slowly shifted to his two friends, and, after several long minutes of silence, he smiled. It was odd, how they weren't taking his new turn of interest as seriously as they usually did. When Ron's eyes narrowed, he said, "Look at it this way. They're wanting to get close. For obvious reasons, at that. So what better way to keep an eye on them than by _letting _them get close? To be honest, I'd rather not get a nasty surprise from them at a distance."

"Snape, right?" Ron asked, the gears already turning. Hadrian smiled. Hermione blinked, and, as they walked away, he knew her well enough that she was turning over any information she held and looking for answers. After several seconds, she said, "You did say that he thought you had been spirited away. An interesting accusation, I'd say. Whatever gave him _that _thought, anyway?"

"I'm a parselmouth." Hadrian reminded her, softly, and she frowned. She gestured to the three of them as she asked, "Well, then why didn't he do something about it during our second year? I was petrified. Ron knocked unconscious in the Chamber of Secrets. And you killed an ancient basilisk. So why wait until _now _to bring it up?"

"I asked him the same thing."

Ron paused, and then turned to look at him. "It's a game, right?"

"What?"

"All of _this! _The Slytherins mingling with us. Snape taking a new interest in you. It's a _game _they're playing!" The redhead grinned, blue eyes flashing with excitement, and Hadrian smiled. He was catching up. Hermione, blinking owlishly, was still before her eyes slowly widened. Hadrian felt her gaze cut into him, and her voice was sharp, low but sharp, as she said, "You're playing _their _game?! You're not a snake, Hadrian!"

"I could have been." He remarked, and ran a finger down the Dark Lord's scales. The serpent had stopped moving, head next to his ear, grazing the soft skin, as Hermione asked, at the same moment as Voldemort, with a certain amount of horror and disbelief as they entered the next hallway and made their way upstairs.

"What do you mean?"

_'Could have been?!' _

Hadrian hummed under his breath as they made their way past the library's third floor entrance, thankful for a free first period. He kept his tone light as he said, "Yes, I could have been. That was the Sorting Hat's first choice, actually. Didn't I tell you that? Anyway, it was rather determined that I go into Slytherin, but I was rather angry with Malfoy. So I chose Gryffindor instead."

"To spite him?"

"Partially."

They fell to silence, and Voldemort, still wound around his shoulders, was tensing and relaxing his coils. The steady pressure was something he was getting use to, despite the near death-by-strangulation for naming him _Monty, _and it wasn't long before they found themselves in Gryffindor. The common room was empty, for the most part, and the duo took their seats next to the hearth. He knew, as he sat there, that his two friends were slowly working out his words.

And the meaning behind them.

Images of the Dursleys came to mind. The steady thrum of pain lingering under his skin sharpened, and, with a causal brush of his magic, felt it sooth and melt into the background of his mind. The thoughts shifted to the countless days, the years, of having to outsmart Dudley and his gang. Of being chased through Little Surrey, and the constant need for an open eye, and an open ear, in relation to his aunt and uncle. Bargaining never occurred, but outmaneuvering them was something else entirely. It was _easy _to get one over them, and, while the repercussions for it were often painful, the frustration that came as a result was something he enjoyed.

Not to mention the entire event of blowing up Aunt Marge. The memory brought a sharp smile to his face.

_The woman deserved it. _He blinked when he felt the coils around him tighten, and turned his gaze to the red eyes staring intently at his face. Voldemort lifted himself up, a long neck swaying side to side, and those red, red eyes continued to regard him. When the Dark Lord spoke, his words were calm. _'You could be a Slytherin, and yet you went to the opposing House. Bad impressions. Family ties. A manner of different things influence your decision. Do you regret your choice?'_

Did he?

Hadrian, relaxed and observant, turned the question over. By being a Gryffindor, he became friends with several students. He found a new home, one where he could be himself, to a certain degree, without fear of punishment for gifts he was born with. However, in the same way, he was also held down due to a title for something he couldn't even remember doing. Killing the Dark Lord. Banishing him, really, but essentially the same thing. Gryffindor was warm. It was friendly. There weren't power plays, and everyone was up front and brutal about whatever they had a problem with. But Slytherin?

He had seen glimpses of that House, and the life the students' lead. Both in his second year, once by sneaking inside to spy and another by following Tom Riddle, the memory of him, during restless nights. He could recall the power plays he had witnessed, and the way the students in there admired the teenage Riddle. While they were craft, and never direct, their loyalty...was unwavering. It wasn't like that in Gryffindor, and he knew _that _from experience. How often have his own Housemates turned their backs on him when he did something they didn't approve of?

Did he regret his choice?

In the end, he offered no answer.


	7. Chapter 7

She was wearing pink. And a _lot _of it.

Hadrian was visibly _sick _at the sight of the woman, and, as he sat down in the classroom, he suppressed a shudder. Hermione was staring at her, and then at the paper the toad had passed out, before looking _back _at their Defense professor. Neville was muttering under his breath, and Dean and Seamus were scowling. Yet her attention was unwavering, this woman in pink, and Hadrian felt it cutting into him as he adjusted Voldemort around his body. He found he didn't really care, and, as he set his quills and paper on top of his book, he realized he still had to figure out what to do with the Dark Lord.

He turned his attention to the massive serpent, and asked, _'When exactly do you plan on letting me know exactly how all of this came about?'_

Ron cringed away from him. Hermione's gaze flickered back to him, and Neville, sitting in front of them, turned in his seat with a furrowed brow. The other Lions were glowering, but they were no longer speaking out against _Monty's _appearance in their classes and common room. They were still glowering, though. Glaring. Angry. Scared. Wands always close to hand. He ran his hand over the smooth scales along Voldemort's neck at the thought, and cocked his head to the side when the serpent hissed, _'Today. I did not wish to...distract you from your studies. Not yet.'_

"Not yet?" He questioned, and turned his gaze fully to the serpent with his eyebrows raised. The ruby-eyed serpent flared, veins of silver glowing a soft and luminous blue. Hadrian gestured to his surroundings as he added, not all that quietly, "Not that I'll learn anything in _this _class, Monty. So _later _is rather redundant."

"Mr. Potter!" His gaze shot to the toad as she puffed up, and he offered a sheepish smile.

"Excuse my outburst, Professor." He pulled his braid free with a sharp tug, and yanked his hand away from Voldemort's mouth when he snapped at his fingers with a hissing laugh. His attention returned to the monstrosity in pink as he added, "But given what happened last year, returning to the basics is rather illogical. Not to mention we're in our _fifth _year."

He unearthed his book, and opened the book to the first chapter. "Defense Against The Dark Arts: Defining The Dark Arts."

He skimmed over the content, and scowled. His gaze flickered back to the professor, and he murmured, "As it is, we learned this in our first year in school. _Your _job is to teach _us_ how to defend ourselves against offensive magic, be it dark or not. Which, given how you intend to return _to the basics_, hints that you plan on _shrinking _your duty. Is the Ministry really _that _incapable?"

_'Now you sound like a Ravenclaw with the mouth of a Gryffindor.' _Voldemort hissed, but Hadrian ignored him in favor of watching Umbridge inflate with anger. Her face, pale and covered in white powder, turned red. It clashed with the pink, and her eyes, dark and beady, narrowed. As she opened her mouth, Hadrian said, "Are you alright? You're rather red, Professor. I'm sure that can't be healthy. Now you're purple..."

_"Out! Out!" _Umbridge raved, and Hadrian held up his hands in defense as he said, "But, Professor -"

"I said _out, _Mr. Potter!" Her wand flicked out, and a slip appeared in front of her. "I will _not _have -"

"Were you not saying how you were looking _forward _to teach-"

"Out!" The rest of the class was deathly silent, and Hadrian stood. He kept his hands in view as he said, "Alright, _alright, _I'm _going_."

"And _detention, _Mr. Potter! Tonight! And leave that _horrid _creature in your dorm!"

"Monty is _not _horrid, thank you very much!" Hadrian snapped, and, when her wand came up, his flipped into his hand. His eyes narrowed on the large target in pink, and his voice dropped as he said, "And if you so much as _think _about hexing my companion, I'll show you how an irate Gryffindor deals with their problems. _Especially _if that problem is _personal."_

He rotated, and swept out of the class. Voldemort, wound around his shoulders, was still. Silent. As they made their way down the hallway, he felt those coil begin shifting, the massive serpent shifting its position, and then that soft voice hissed, _'Personal, is it?'_

_'We have an agreement.' _Hadrian remarked, and then he ran a hand down the glimmering scales as he added, "I can't uphold my end of the bargain, nor can you uphold yours, if she hexed you into nonexistence."

_Not to mention that, as long as you're in my care, you're mine. _He kept that small thought to himself, the anger boiling under his skin. Flashes of his life at the Dursleys, of the lack of possessions, came to mind. Anything he obtained was taken. While the spiders were comforting company, his _family _did not hesitate to kill them. Especially when they realized he actually _liked _the small critters.

The few times they found him with a serpent often resulted in said serpent's painful demise.

Though he had a sneaking suspicion that being _protective _of the Dark Lord was a _bad _thing.

_'You, boy, are a riddle so warped that it's painful to try to unravel.' _Hadrian bit back a laugh, and shook his head. Painful? Life _was _painful. Everything about coming back to Hogwarts, and the steady decline to the last days of the year, was painful. It was like his magic, and the way it was fluctuating around him as he made his way through the hallway. It was always there, a steady presence, but utterly unpredictable. Even now, as he made his way outside, the air around him chilled, mist dusting the air, and he ran his hands along his arms.

What little he had, what was _his, _was precious. Something to be protected.

Settling down next to the lake, he watched, detached and thoughtful, as Voldemort, as a massive snake, slithered through the grass. Feeding something _that _large was difficult. What had the basilisk feasted upon when it lived? He blinked, gaze dropping, when the upper body of the lacrimosa pooled itself into his lap, and then those red eyes filled his vision. _'Your control of your magic is horrid...'_

Voldemort's cheek and neck, cold and scaled, could be felt through his clothing as that black tongue flicked out to taste the air. The cold scales scraped against the underside of his chin as that diamond-shaped head brushed the underside of his ear. That voice, soft and ethereal, hissed, _'And yet you wear a glamour. A powerful one, locked in place. It fades not even when you sleep._

_'What are you hiding, little Savior?'_

Glamour.

The pain pulsed through him in remembrance, and he frowned. Voldemort's statement sunk in, and green eyes narrowed. He focused his attention on the serpent, the diamond-shaped head that had wound around the back of his neck to bring them face-to-face. "You watch me when I sleep? Do you even _know _how creepy that is!?"

The slight tensing of the massive body acted as a warning, but Hadrian plowed on. "Seriously. That's creepy. Like, it couldn't be any worse than someone sitting on the roof outside my _window _watching me sleep all night because they_ can't _sleep."

_'...what?' _Red eyes stared at him, and, if he had eyelids, Hadrian was certain the Dark Lord would have blinked in confusion.

"So what happened?" Hadrian returned. He gestured to the massive serpent. "How did you go from noseless to King of the Serpents?"

The red stare clearly said it was unimpressed, but the Dark Lord stated, evenly, _'The actual event itself is...outside of my memory. I can, however, tell you that I, and many of my closest followers, were investigating an old ruin when it happened.'_

"A ruin?"

_'That is what I said, is it not?' _Voldemort snaked through the grass, winding this way and that. Hadrian watched him in silence for a long while, the sun warm against his back, before he finally asked, "So you don't remember what happened?"

Voldemort, Dark Lord of a Century, did not offer a response to his inquiry.

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"Granger!" The name was shouted for all to hear, and Hermione, blinking, swirled to find herself face-to-chest with a student. A student with a green tie, and dark skin. Honey-colored eyes slowly rose to find Zabini's, and she was rather _certain _that the last time they spoke, his eyes had _not _been a smoky blue. Yet, as his hand came up, slamming into the wall next to her head, and barely managing to keep himself from knocking them _both _over the fifth floor's railing on a _moving _staircase, she found herself baffled by his continued persistence. "Salazar, Granger, you are one very hard witch to catch up with!"

The Italian was grinning, a sharp and easy smirk that was borderline-insane and half genuine smile. Behind her, she heard Ron's defeated sign followed by a quiet, "Bloody hell, can't we just get _rid _of these damn Slytherins?"

Embracing her books, holding them closer to her chest, she said, ignoring Ron's comment, "What can I do for you now, Zabini?"

"Plenty, really." Came the instant reply as the Slytherin student eased away. He smoothed down his robes, lazy grin in place. "With lunch coming on, I thought it best to fetch you and Weasley. Not to mention the entire gusto about Potter being kicked out of DADA before class was able to actually begin."

"Professor Umbridge hadn't taken well to his...jest." Hermione conceded, knowing already where this was going. Zabini merely shrugged. "Frankly, _I _found the entire thing to be hilarious. Most of the Slytherins were trying to keep themselves from laughing."

The Italian paused. "You did _not _hear that from me, by the way. They'd kill me."

Neville, coming to stand by Ron, offered, "I think everyone was trying not to laugh. Hadrian has a tongue on him. Common knowledge in the Pride."

"But not outside of it?" Hermione shifted her gaze to see Parkinson hopping down the steps, gleeful mirth shining out of her gaze. There was a half-smirk on her face, and, as she looped arms with Nott, whom Hermione finally realized was leaning against the railing next to Zabini, she seemed to look as if she was a cat that had found the cream. Once again, the two sides found themselves mixed, and carefully walking common lines of conversation. Nott didn't speak much, but his attention was intense and unwavering. Ron, with a groan, finally said, "No, Hadrian _doesn't _often show that side of himself in front of others. And, _no, _none of us will tell you _why _because none of _us _know."

The stairs finally settled, and they moved onward, and soon they were making their way into the Great Hall. She wasn't all that surprised to see the Headmaster waiting for them, a contemplative frown on his face, and, several feet behind him, stood Hadrian. He was leaning against the wall, Monty coiled on the ground next to him, with a book in hand.

As they past Dumbledore, the elderly man inclined his head in greeting. "Ah, a wonderful site to see everyone working for House unity! Wonderful indeed!"

Hermione, as she came to rest in front of her friend, couldn't help but wonder if the old man was lying. His eyes were anything but happy.

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"So why do you keep the rebellious side hidden?"

Hadrian blinked, his gaze focusing on the Slytherins in front of him, before he raised one dark eyebrow in question. His gaze shifted from one serpent to the next before he pushed off the wall, book closed and carefully returned to his bag. "To prevent inane questioning such as this, I'd venture to guess."

Ron snickered. Hermione gave him a disapproving glower. The Slytherins all responded with sharp, predatory smirks.

"Though, to be _honest, _I've never hidden it."

"First year. You took on a troll in the girl's restroom. Second year. The Chamber of Secrets. Third year. Dementors." Draco tallied off, and then he offered a slow, sharp grin. He twirled his wand, eyes intent, as he continued. "Fourth year. The tournament. And, this year, you bring a massive serpent, a _venomous one, _into a school filled with children. Case and Point, is it not?"

"Case _in _point, _Draco." _Hadrian corrected as he entered the Great Hall. He made his way towards Slytherin, a smile in place. As he neared, the students made room for the newcomers, and, as he, alongside the other Lions with him and Draco and his group, sat. They gathered what they wanted to eat as Parkinson asked, "I never took you to be someone who would purposely make a professor angry, Potter. Seems...so unlike you."

"And how would you know what I'm like, on an actual account, without knowing who I am?"

"You're Hadrian Potter."

"That's my name." Hadrian bit into his apple, a smile on his face. "But my name does not define who I am. Nor does your name define who _you _are."

_'Confusing.' _Voldemort hissed as he snapped a slice of orange from his hand. Hadrian blinked, look at the place the slice should have been, and then back to the massive serpent spread out on the table. He sighed, and grabbed another one. The Dark Lord continued, _'For a Lion, you have qualities of a Snake. But you were supposed to be a Serpent, if what you said is true. An odd, confusion combination..."_

Hadrian merely smiled, content to enjoy his lunch.


	8. Chapter 8

As the days passed, the interactions between Slytherin and Gryffindor smoothed out. The group, as oddly mixed as it was, could often be found mingling in one form or another. Several discussing lessons in the library, partnering up in Potions, eating together at meals, and even sitting together during free periods. It was peculiar. Not one student was sure how to respond, and, while tensions between the two Houses ran thick, nothing compared to the chaos that erupted the night Hadrian found himself in detention for a third time with Umbridge.

He sat at the desk she assigned for him, and, as he waited for her to make her orders clear, he absently traced the scales on Voldemort's side. His nail glided between each, and he watched, enchanted, by the slowly shifting colors. Voldemort, known as _Monty _by the rest of the school, was growing in size. It was a chore to _carry _the massive serpent, and, the more time he spent admiring the sleek form, Hadrian came to realize one very intriguing fact.

A lacrimosa didn't stay one color. The hide slowly changed, the colors shifting from one to the next. The veins, once silver, now boarding electric green, drew attention. The white length of the body was impossible to mistake, the silver like lightening. Something to contribute to improved health, perhaps. Voldemort, for his part, simply allowed his new form to be admired, hissing with something akin to pleasure every time the indents between his scales were grazed. The veins, he noted, changed color. The rest of him was a shifting scale of whites, silvers, and greys. Beautiful. And, frankly, confusing.

_'I wonder if she'll have me reciting rules out of that "Book of Good Behavior" of hers again...' _Voldemort turned his head, twin red eyes catching his. The snake's tongue flicked out, tasting the air, and Hadrian scowled. At the front of the room, Umbridge was riffling through a large start of paper. She had yet to turn her attention to him. Her head rose, and shifted from him to the serpent as she said, "I have some books in the back that I need copied, Mr. Potter. You are to leave that...you are to leave Monty in here. I do not wish to have that overgrown rep...serpent to knock over the precious order I have established."

_Can somebody kill me now? _The inwardly wish went unheard as he stood, and, as he carefully draped Voldemort over the desk, the large snake snapping at him and catching the cloth in his mouth, Hadrian sighed. He turned, and ran a hand down the flawless scales of grey-silver, watching with interest as the green markings flared. Flashing. Dangerous. His voice, soft and ethereal and sibilant, came out hard, _'You will not leave me in here with a pink toad, Potter. I will not allow it.'_

"Potter." He turned his gaze on his professor, his mind alight with pain. "Professor Umbridge, he's refusing to be left in here while I am elsewhere."

The Pink Monstrosity frowned, and tutted. "Well, I am certain...Monty will live with it. It is only for a few hours."

"Tell that to him." Beady eyes slid to the snake, and Hadrian watched as she shifted. Voldemort, for his part, was already winding around him, the massive form getting _too _large to fit comfortably around his shoulders. Nearly snapping in two under the massive form, Hadrian scowled. _'You're getting too damn heavy for me to carry you everywhere!'_

_'Are you calling me fat?'_ Hadrian snorted, and shifting the coils as he hissed, _'No, I am not calling you fat. I am saying, however, that you are getting a bit too large for me to carry around.'_

The coils flexed, and then the Dark Lord hissed, _'I will agree to remain in here as long as the door to her office remains open. If it closes, I will kill her.'_

Hadrian gawked. He relayed the message when the coils tightened around him, and Umbridge, white, agreed without hesitation. He draped the massive serpent on her desk for the kicks, and, after heating the surface with a warming charm, trumped upstairs. The door stayed open as he passed, wide open with a clear view of the room below, and he nearly turned tail and sprinted back down the steps upon seeing the room.

Pink. Everywhere. And _cats_.

While there were a large number of bookshelves in the room, all filled with books from the Ministry of Magic. There were countless boxes, each filled with books, and Hadrian glanced at them to Umbridge. She smiled. "I want you to unpack those boxes for me. I have several books I need to gather for class next week. Afterward, I have lines for you to write. When you are finished unpacking, tell me."

_Well, this isn't too bad. _

Hadrian crossed the room, and knelt next to the boxes. He opened them with care, and gingerly pulled the large books out. He set them on the table next to him first, emptying all the books onto it, before eying the bookshelf in front of him. His gaze swept across author and title, and he caught the pattern with ease. Grouped, in order, by author and then by subject. Given that they were all Ministry books, sorting them wouldn't be difficult. He knew Umbridge was watching him work, and, as he found and grouped liked authors together, he let himself settle into his own mind.

It was safer there. It didn't take long for the books to all be in their right spots, and, as he stepped back, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Umbridge, to his disbelief, was a silent walker. She eyed the books, the order they were placed in, and a soft, approving hum escaped her. She nodded to him, and gestured to her desk. "Take a seat, Mr. Potter."

He sat. A plaque sat in front of him, two words etched into its surface. _Fas Est Ut Mentiretur._

He gingerly took the plaque in hand, running his fingers over the words. Umbridge watched him, eyes sharp, as he turned it over. Sitting in her seat, the cushions soft under him, he frowned. Fas est ut mentiretur? What the hell did that mean? He knew it was Latin. Everything in this world was Latin, though he could never understand why magic had to be spoken when accidental magic was without wand or words. His gaze lifted to his professor, questions dancing within his gaze. Unseen, but there. He figured she understood, and, as she stopped in front of the desk, hands folded before her, she answered his unspoken question with a kind smile.

"Fas Est Ut Mentiretur is Latin for 'I Must Not Tell Lies,' Hadrian Potter." He felt his anger rise, but caught hold of it as she continued, "It is not only lies of mouth that I speak of here. Lies of the mind. Lies of the soul. Lies of destiny and fate. One must never lie _to themself, _Mr. Potter."

Lying to himself? Since _when? _Hadrian bit his lip, and drew in a calming breath. "Okay. Lie not to myself. Got it. So, uh...what am I supposed to do with this? I mean, the plaque. You said I'd be writing lines...not having a conversation on lying..."

Merlin, he was confused. Umbridge conjured a chair across the desk from him, and sat. She gestured to the desk as she said, "On your left, in the first drawer, is a glass case with a quill in it. Retrieve it."

Blinking, Hadrian did as he was ordered. He found the case, the bottom of it made of dark wood. The cushion inside was a deep red, like blood, and the glass, it shone like crystal. The quill, however, was a masterpiece. With it sitting beside the plaque, the quill itself was an item of wonder. The stem, jet black, was a stark contrast against the red it rested against. The feathers, an odd array of features that were black and tinted blue and green, with veins of silver, were impossible to look away from.

It was...familiar.

He couldn't place it even as he carefully opened the lid, the glass, or crystal, cool and inviting against his skin. As he reached for the quill, Umbridge spoke with a calmness that was...relaxing. "For this kind of quill, you need no ink. It obtains what it needs on its own."

Useful. His fingers touched the quill, and a pulse of magic rushed through him. He bit back the gasp, and lifted the feather out of the case. Without her saying anything, he began his search for something to write in. He found it in second drawer, beneath the one the quill was housed in, and set the packet of paper on the desk. He leaned back, and turned the quill, admiring it. Gathered its own ink, did it?

He sensed the magic in it. Felt it traveling from the stem into his fingers, into his hand, and up his forearm. It was warm. Inviting. Enchanting. It was magic, and the feature itself was unlike anything he had ever seen. As he turned the quill, he saw a red sheen join, followed by deep violent and hints of brown. A bird of some sort, one with feathers like this...what could this thing have possibly come from?

"A beauty, isn't it?" His gaze lifted, and his gaze met Umbridge. She had a contemplative look on her face, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "Do you know what it is, Mr. Potter?"

"A Blood Quill, if I am not mistaken. Illegal." He replied evenly. Umbridge bowed her head, a smile on her face as she held his gaze and said, "You are correct, Mr. Potter, but this one...it is not like the others. It is different."

He twirled the quill between his fingers, a frown marring his features. "You expect me to write with this despite me knowing what it is."

Professor Umbridge smiled. She did not have to answer for him to know the answer.

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"Detention three days in a row, eh?"

Hermione sighed. She looked up to find Zabini, once again, making himself comfortable at her table in the library. Ron ignored him, forgoing any comments, and Neville offered an easy smile as he replied, "So it would seem. What brings you? Homework, a hope to get some information, or something else entirely?"

Zabini grinned. Nott sat next him, and Draco was approaching, hands in pockets, from behind. Hermione tried to figure out why Professor Snape, of all people, was following behind the pale nobleman. Both found themselves a seat at the table, and the lions already sitting were resigned. Getting rid of a snake was one thing. Getting rid of their Head of House was another.

"I merely wanted to see you again, Granger." He had a hand over his heart, a grin in place. "But, as hard as you might find that to believe, it is the truth. I do, however, well, we do, want to know what Hadrian did _this _time."

Case in point. Hermione closed her book, and folded her hands on top of it. "And am I correct in assuming that you, Professor Snape, are also interested in this?"

"You are correct, Miss Granger."

Hadrian had been rather blunt about his suspicion that Professor Snape was watching him. Merlin, the entire school was watching him. She was surprised that Dumbledore had yet to corner him in his office for a chit-chat. Looking over the snakes before her, at the closeness between them and their Head, she felt herself relax. Snakes they might be, but she did know one thing. They were loyal to their own. If their Head was taking an interest...

She exchanged looks with Neville, whom held her gaze evenly, and sighed. "I'm not sure what he did this time."

"Not sure?" Nott's eyebrow arched, the only sign of his surprise. Or a sign of his demand for answers. Hermione nodded, relenting. "The first time was due to his...jesting in class. He is rather...blunt when he dislikes someone. And dislike is too weak a word for what he thinks about Professor Umbridge."

Not that she blamed him. That woman was a poor excuse for a professor.

"And the second detention?"

It was Professor Snape edging her forward this time. Hermione rolled her shoulders. "He refused to do the classwork."

"Why?"

"Said it was insulting." Ron finally spoke up, his nose scrunching in distaste. Several gazes shifted to him, and the redhead squirmed in his seat. Hermione patted the top of his hand, a gentle smile on her face. Ron offered an uneasy smile, and continued, "And right he is. Bloody hell, that woman is a menace. Professor Lupin, hell, Barty, was a better teacher than that...thing teaching us."

Right again. Professor Lupin knew a great deal about Defense. She suspected a lot of it was due to his status as a werewolf. That, and Sirius. Barty, even if he was disguised as Mad-Eye, was a Professor to be respected. Admired, even. Cruel as he sometimes was, he knew what he was doing. He taught them the curses they needed to know, how they worked, and how to counter them. How to block them, if needed.

Professor Quirrell knew a great deal about vampires, certainly. He was too...shifty. Too afraid. Professor Lockhart was something she did not even wish to recall, and her own...liking of him was simply a phase in life she wished to regret. Two bad teachers. Two goods ones. And, once again, _another _Professor who was wasting everyone's time. Hermione was starting to get fed up with it, and she suspected Hadrian was too.

More than once, she had seen him looking into some more advance DADA books. Seen him taking notes, muttering to himself, and the way Monty seemingly read over his shoulders. At times, that serpent would stare at him for over an hour before snapping angrily at her friend. She suspected Hadrian often ignored the temperamental snake when he was immersed in his books.

Not a month into school, shy of _two weeks,_ and Hadrian was already plotting. He was up to something, but what...

Even with him spending another night in detention, she knew that, if anything, Hadrian would turn the situation around to favor his own plans. He had always been quick on his feet. A fast runner. Intelligent. Cruel, when needed. Only twice had she seen _that _side of him, and, know that she finally understood, she knew it was the Slytherin in him. Always underneath his skin, lurking and waiting to strike. A Snake in a Lion's skin.

"Hermione?" She blinked, and lifted her gaze. She shook herself off, offering an apologetic smile, and said, "The third detention, the one he has tonight...I'm not sure what happened. Class was going well, he was working on his project, and, well, one moment everything was calm, and the next..."

"The next, the windows shattered. His magic lashed out." It was Draco who answered, a troubling frown on his face.

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He was accustomed to pain. Hadrian knew it. Breathed it. Lived it. Pain, that was something he could deal with.

Three pages, each filled with slanted writing, elegant in its own way, stared up at him. The words were a gleaming red, and the length of his forearm, _"smarting" _with pain, throbbed. Red curved down his arm, seeped between his fingers, and dripped onto the desk. Umbridge, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, paler than normal, remained unmoving. His magic, churning under the surface, so desperate to crawl over the marks being etched into his skin, did only his bidding. The room, layered already in protective charms, had a second wall to block scent.

As much as he disliked this woman, he did not wish her to get murdered by a massive, pissed off serpent out for blood. Hadrian knew already that the Dark Lord knew the scent of his blood, and keeping that snake downstairs, seemingly dozing on the Professor's desk, instead of charging into here, was a must. It would do nothing for Voldemort, once known as Tom Riddle, to enter the room to _this._

__Fas Est Ut Mentiretur.__

_Fas Est Ut Mentiretur._

__Fas Est Ut Mentiretur.__

With every line bled into the paper, he felt the quill's magic wrap around him. The pain faded after each period. And a slow burn built with the first word, and built as the others followed. Not once did he grimace. Not once did he tremble, or adjust his grip. He wrote as if nothing was happening. As if nothing was wrong, and that, he knew, was starting to eat at the woman across from him. Even as his hair, pooling over his shoulders, partially blocking his face, fell around him like a curtain of midnight, she did not stir.

How many times had he heard her reprimand the girls for letting their hair get in the way in middle of class? It was 'unbecoming,' she had said. Hogwarts was a professional academy, and looking like a bunch of 'ill groomed wenches' was an eyesore. He started his second column of lines, inwardly smirking. This pain, it was _nothing_. It was a slap to the face. A sting. It could not compare to the broken ribs. The burned flesh of his body. A dislocated shoulder. The scar marring his left side, from underarm to hip.

_Never Forget._

_Fas Est Ut Mentiretur._

_Never Forget._

__Fas Est Ut Mentiretur.__

__Never Forget...__

The fifth page came, and it went. The sixth. The seventh. Eight. Ninth. He was halfway through when a hand clamped over his, and his gaze slowly rose to the pale, and sweating, professor in front of him. She was trembling. Pupils nearly gone in a sea of color. He let her take the quill out of his hand. Watched as she set it in its case, and closed it. Let her take the nine pages of writing, filled with perfect lines of blood, away from him. He watched her. His gaze unwavering. She vanished through a door, and came back a moment later with ointment and bandages. Her hands were trembling.

He didn't stop her as she took his arm. He didn't stop her when she pushed his sleeve away. She stared at the words on his forearm, from the indent of his arm, nested just beneath his elbow, to his wrist. The words were deep. He saw a gleam of white through the red. Bone. She shuddered. She vanished to gather other ointments, a few potions, and set to work.

Not once did he attempt to stop her. Not once did he speak, or show a sign of discomfort. When she finished, he finally spoke.

"Why do you tremble now when you did not hesitate to have me use a quill _knowing _what it would do, Professor?"

Her gaze shot to his. She was pale. Trembling. She swallowed. "I...you..."

He rose. She backed away. He regarded her in silence, eyes dark and hair falling around him. A veil of darkness. A color of the darkness midnight blue. Green irises observed from that darkness, unconcerned. He pulled the sleeve down over the white bandages, and brushed his hair out of his face. "Did you expect me to cry, Professor? Confess I am a lair? That I have done wrong?"

She stood in the center of her room as he turned away. "That was your first mistake."

As he approached the door, she called out after him. "Why didn't you ask to stop?"

He turned to face her. "Pain is only the beginning, Professor. It announces the beginning of a new life. It shadows use as we live. It follows us to our ends. So why should I _cry, _why should I _confess, _to something I did not do?"

He smiled. "_Fas Est Ut Mentiretur, _Professor Umbridge. I must not tell lies."

His glamour rose, snapping into place, as he passed through the doorway. A quick spell had the blood absent from his clothing, and, as he made his way down the steps, Voldemort already gliding across the ground to circle his legs, he felt her watching him as he slipped out of the classroom. His hand fell to his pocket, a glass container, and its quill, resting peacefully within. Bloody. Dark.

_Magic._


	9. Chapter 9

Dark magic. The boy _reeked _of it.

Voldemort trailed after the young wizard, red eyes unblinking. There was no evidence that the Boy-Who-Lived dabbled, but the _scents, _Salazar. He could smell the darkness on the boy, so much stronger than he had thought possible. Gliding across the cool stones of Hogwarts, the ancient school at ease with his presence, a symptom of the Oath they had sworn, the resident Dark Lord found himself pondering what he _really _knew about the sole survivor of the Killing Curse.

And what _did _he know?

He was raised by a muggle family. One that doted on him, if his followers were to be believed. A boy who was his _father's _clone. Good in sports, and in DADA. Lack of attention. Little interest in the affairs of those outside of his personal Pride. Yet...those were wrong. Incorrect. As they made their way higher into the building, traveling between slow-moving staircases, Voldemort, once known as Tom Riddle, would have frowned if he had the features for it.

So what was the truth?

They were passing through the portal into the Gryffindor common room as he turned over what he _did _know about the boy. He was raised by muggles, but, when prompted, he never said anything about them. He has _some _similarities to James Potter, but he inherited far more from his mudblood of a mother. The wavy hair was obviously a Black trait, and those eyes; they were more than just a reflection of his mother. He often saw the same silent determination, and understanding, in them that he had seen on the night he had come to kill the brat so many years ago. An acceptance of...something.

Slithering across the floor, and draping himself across the couch next to the fireplace, he let his mind drift to other areas. The boy's skill in his classes, for one. In the few weeks they had been forced together, he had seen books far more advanced than what his classes were teaching. The glamours on the boy, those were something of note. Powerful. Unwavering. Even when Potter slept, they did not fade as so many others were prone to do.

Hadrian Potter tended to keep to his own group, true, but he did not exclude those outside of his interest. His jests, and careful play, with His Slytherins had proven as much. Red eyes slid to the boy, his _personal _scent masked. His magic, however...that he could smell. It was a second skin, and strong enough to tease him. So much power. How? When? _Why?_

_'Is it a hobby of yours to stare at me?' _Voldemort flicked out his tongue, and tasted the boy's amusement. It lingered in the magic, so potent and rich and enticing. Alluring. Power, _magical _power, was a lure. One he found himself unable to resist, and he was already draping the upper portion of his body across the boy's lap, winding around him to rest his head on his shoulder, before he realized he was moving. Their magic brushed, mingling, and he felt the surging currents of his _own _magic settling. Silver lightning, veins of magic decorating his skin, lightened. He butted his head against Potter's cheek as he hissed, _'You speak as if I am the only one who stares.'_

_'That's different.' _Potter turned his gaze back to his book, a novel of some sort, with the smallest hints of a smile on his face. Even as the other Lions came into the room, two of the females curling into his sides - the Ginger and the mudblood, - Voldemort felt a sharp edge of cold, dark intent rise in him. So many questions. Readjusting his coils, allowing them to drape over the two girls' shoulders, he hissed, _'But it is not, is it, Potter? Your glamour is stronger than it was earlier. Your scent masked. Is there something you would like to...share?'_

His fangs scraped the boy's throat, and Potter, to his surprise, turned his head fractionally. Killer green eyes glared into him, the gaze sharp and unyielding. Voldemort returned the stare, coils flexing. Had the boy thought him so dense that he would not have noticed? So weak of sense he could not detect the changes? Too dull in sight to see the way he cradled his right arm, ever so slightly, so no one would touch it?

The other redhead, the tall and lanky Weasley boy, cleared his throat. Voldemort wanted to spit poison at him, the venom already dripping from his fangs and gliding harmlessly down his throat. Potter's gaze, however, did not shift as the boy said, "Is everything alright, Ron?"

"Uh...not exactly, mate..."

Perhaps he could count on the predictability of a Lion? Voldemort shifted his attention to the ginger as Weasley continued, "Well, you see...well, we've all noticed that you, you know...um...what the hell did you do this time?"

That was absolutely pathetic. Voldemort stared at the redhead, unblinking, as Hadrian said, "This time, Ron? I'm afraid you'll need to be more -"

"Cut the shit, mate!" Ronald Weasley. That was the boy's name. Ron. Not exactly a _fitting _name for a wizard, let alone a Pureblood. Traitor or not. Though he did agree with the teen's sharp, harsh, cutting command. A hand rose, stroking the scales of his head, and Voldemort absently pushed himself into the petting before vehemently cursing himself for the action. Several other Lions were sitting down as the mudblood, Granger, spoke, "What he means, Hadrian, is that we're _worried _about you. Did something...happen at home?"

"No."

One word. Sharp. Cutting. _Dark. _There was a small trace of darkness seeping into the magic, and, as the mudblood continued, Voldemort found himself, once again, questioning what he really knew about this child. "Then what, Hadrian? You've been distant. Drawn. Tired...are the nightmares coming back? Is that..."

Nightmares? He shifted his gaze back to Potter, questioning forming in his mind as the youth, magic coiling tight around him, snapped his book shut.

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His Snakes were restless.

Severus Snape leaned against the desk, whiskey forgotten, as he absently looked between the various essays laid out in front of him. So carefully done, the mistakes. Small in number, as they were, but the truth...it stared back at him as he carefully moved from one essay to the next. Past years were mixed into the mess, and, as he shifted towards the work others he associated with had done, he realized there were many similarities in them.

Some answers were wrong, which was to be expected. They were only students, and mistakes were a part of learning. But the following assignments, the essays...there were mentions of plants, and their uses. Questions they had done poorly on were sharpened to perfection in later essays. Done in the same _year_. Different ways a potion could be prepared, and the ways which would make it malfunction. Yet, in practicals, Potter was always off. Granger always pulled second. Longbottom always destroyed _something _in his class.

Almost perfect. His gaze slowly moved towards the small cluster of Snakes sitting across from him, their gazes drawn. Dark.

They had come to the same conclusion, then. Interesting.

What would Albus think, if he knew of this discovery? What would he _do, _however, was the more pressing question. Zabini was jittery, his motions barely there. The Italian was scowling, that keen mind underneath pulling lines together. Nott, leaning against the wall in the back, was frowning. A deep furrow to his brow, gaze contemplative. Draco, however...

Draco was at ease, hands folded under his chin, and his mind far away. Seeing the youth like _that _reminded him of Lucius. That thoughtful, impossible sharp mind whirling from one train of thought to the next, each interconnected. Parkinson sat on the floor next to Nott, head resting against her knees. Severus drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly some moments after. Zabini's outburst came seconds after.

"He's _playing _us."

Disbelief. The dark-skinned Slytherin seemed shocked by that, but not overly so. Pieces of a puzzle being pieced together, the whole becoming clear. A few of the others looked up, some with irritation is their gazes and others with resigned acceptance. For a snake...Zabini was often a bit _expressive_. Severus mentally blamed the boy's mother for that. Black Widow or not, Blaise Zabini was striking the subject lingering between them.

"Do you know why he had detention again, Sev?" Severus looked over at his godson, one black eyebrow rising as the pale nobleman smirked. Folding his hands across the desk, whiskey nestled between them, he spoke his words with care. "There was an...incident. Umbridge mentioned a curse in her report to the Headmaster, but what, exactly, wasn't said."

"So you don't know." Zabini deflated. Severus eyed the snakes before him, gaze shifting from one to the next as he asked, "Why _are _you all so interested in him? Aside from him being Parseltongue and having a lacrimosa in his possession."

Did they see Potter as some kind of _trophy _for them to win? Yet, just looking at them, told him it wasn't that.

"He's interesting." Parkinson muttered. She was leaning into Nott's side, and the quiet serpent had draped his arm across his shoulders. Draco easily picked up where Parkinson left off, his words spoken softly. "There is something about him, Severus. Beyond titles. Beyond academics. I felt it before we started school together, when we first met..."

Madam Malkin's store, before the beginning of their first year. Severus let his mind linger on the excited whispers of a boy of eleven years. A boy who had saw a spark of magic in the form of a human. A boy who had sensed _something _in another student, slightly younger, who would grow up to be his enemy. His rival. But what of before?

What _could _have been?

After all, Draco _had _offered a hand in friendship to the Boy-Who-Lived without even knowing who he was talking to.

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Hadrian rose with the sun.

That was one of the first things Voldemort had learned about his newly acquired companion. Not only did he rise with the sun, he was _also _a light sleeper. The sun had not yet graced the Gryffindor Fifth Year Dorm with light, and already the teenager was sitting up, hair wavy and thick. Mused. A beat untamed if not for the Salazar-damned braid the boy kept it twisted into.

Moving away, not wishing to end up on the floor, Voldemort found himself watching as Pottery slid out from under the blankets. Glamours were all in place. Not even a hint of his scar showed on his forehead. Yet there was _something _else mixed in. Subtle. Faint. Tongue flicking out, tasting the air around him, it took a moment for his mind to process the scent and what it was. Iron. Thick. _Blood_.

_'Potter,' _Green eyes lazily slid towards him, the boy stopping in the middle of the room. Voldemort rose, swaying side-to-side, veins of magic burning, as he hissed, _'Last I checked, you were not bleeding when you went to bed. Drop the glamour.'_

_'I think not.'_ Voldemort stilled. Had he...been refused? Disobeyed? By a _fifteen year old boy? _Voldemort didn't think. He lashed out, easily encasing the teen in his coils, and dropped them both to the ground. His magic surged to life, thrumming wildly under green scales, and red, red eyes focused on the Lion trapped beneath him. Coming closer, noses brushing, Voldemort snapped, _'I did not _ask _you to drop the glamours, Potter. I _demand _it.'_

The teen's gaze narrowed. Too many questions. Too many unknowns.

Tom Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Marvolo Gaunt. Voldemort. Dark Lord. Slytherin.

He was massive, a serpent dangerous and pale and gleaming in the light of the fire. His tongue flicked out, tasting the air. Scents whirled around them; ire, rage, unease. Voldemort turning his gaze, like twin burning suns, on the small wizard pressed to the floor below him. Long black hair spilled across the ground, longer than most of the Blacks. And then he saw the scar, the glamour dropping long enough for him to see the jagged mark of Death marring the youth's face.

It wasn't small. Not like Albus made it out to be. Or anyone, for that matter. It cut across the boy's face, from brow to chin. Even the skin over the ridge of his nose was upraised, the scar pale against the sun-kissed skin. And the glamours, like glowdust sprinked across Potter's body, were no more than a layer of glimmering, iridescent magic. An effect _only _magic could create.

The heat sank into his flesh. Warm. Blissful. With his form draped across the floor, the ground warmed with countless charms, the resident, and largely unknown, Dark Lord regarded his...companion with a thought stare. Barely over fifteen. A child. One that was expected to win a _war, _nonetheless. Against _him_. As laughable as the thought was, Voldemort, once known as Tom Riddle, currently known as Monty, and recently favoring the name Marvolo, found himself contemplating his supposed enemy and the choices laid out before him.

He couldn't kill the boy. Hogwarts would never allow it. Yet, not _once _had the child tried to hurt him. In many ways, he was almost _protective _of him. An oddity, that. Unnatural. But it was there. A flicker of thought. His thoughts shifted towards his Potions Master, and then to the young and aspiring Slytherins. So hard, these children tried. Knowledge they sought, but it was more. A true yearning to understand. Perhaps even a spark of fondness, so easily denied. Children. Always in denial.

As he shifted, getting comfortable, he noted how the boy's features tensed. Then he was relaxing, unconsciously curling into the form surrounding him. As he rested there, he tried to recall what had happened. What was before their Oath. The ruin his Death Eaters had found. A long, curving staircase leading deep underground. Vanishing underneath the surface. Fenrir had slunk through those tunnels, hunched into himself and eyes wild, amber gaze swinging left to right and left again. He could still recall the subconscious growls the wolf was giving as they crept deeper into that darkness.

Fenrir. Bellatrix. The Lestrange brothers. Not one of them had been mentioned in the news of late, and Hadrian paid a certain amount of attention to that. The brothers he could understand, given they had to control Bella. Fenrir, though, that one was often a loose cannon. It wasn't uncommon for the wolf to be in the news. The Ministry was rather fond of antagonizing the man by encroaching upon his pack. More than a dozen had been torn to shreds for nearing their sanctuary. More than a dozen slaughter for threatening the pack and the pups within.

After that...his memory blurred. Darkened. Hazy. His temple began to throb, and he closed his eyes.

Why could he not recall what had happened in that darkness?


	10. Chapter 10

Voldemort was insistent.

Hadrian wasn't sure how to handle the serpent when he was in that state, but, as he made his way to Defense a week later, he suspected the careful, almost innocent, nudges were going to get a bit more biting. Not that he couldn't blame Voldemort. After his minor slip, and the scent of blood exposed after his experience with the Blood Quill, Hadrian would have been insulted if Voldemort hadn't done _something _in response. He hadn't meant to let the glamours, nor the spells, to falter as they had. It was a nudge too far with his Curse Scar being revealed to the man-now-serpent, and that was a touch _too_ much for Hadrian to idly sit with. It was...unnerving for the Dark Wizard to see so much.

So he moved around. A lot.

He made a point in studying with the other Lions, to try and shake off curious questions. Hermione was often at his side, huddled close as they discussed homework or books they've read, and the others often gravitated to their sides within the next hour. So Voldemort was left to limited conversation, and the serpent was often muttering angry insults under his breath. It was a benefit, really, due to the fact the serpent wasn't trying to strike a conversation with his least-favorite House that happened to surround them on a day-to-day basis.

"I mean, _honestly?" _Hermione was saying as they made their way down a flight of stairs. Hadrian hummed lightly under his breath, Dark Lord wound around his shoulders, as she continued, "It's one thing with the Slytherins being...friendly. But this inactivity! _Something's _up!"

"Really?"

Ron was sitting down, Neville at his side. The mentioned Slytherins were closing in, and Nott dropped down into the seat next to Hermione. She pushed him a notebook to him, filled with a myriad of notes. The lanky teen eyed it, his book sitting next to it, and sat as he sighed. Zabini let out a soft laugh as Hermione continued, "The _news, _Hadrian James Potter! Don't you pay attention?"

"You're referring to the Dark Lord's absence?" Malfoy drawled as he turned in his seat, his brow arched. Hermione scowled, eyes narrowed as she said, "Yes. I am _referring _to _Voldemort's _absence! For over two weeks...there hasn't been a sign of him, any of his followers, no offense to you, or anything else. It's...odd. And, no, I am _not _paranoid."

Neville sighed. "Perhaps he's taking a vacation?"

_'Unlikely,' _the mention Dark Lord hissed, and Hadrian smiled. He gauged the people at the table, and surrounding tables, the Gryffindors oddly attentive to the sudden turn of the conversation. Many of them were frowning, and, as they cast looks at one another, Malfoy laughed. Hadrian blinked, eyebrows arching as the pale nobleman said, "Really? Just because he's not actively causing havoc doesn't mean he's up and vanished."

"What would _you _know?" Hermione retorted, and Malfoy shook his head. "More than you, apparently. _What _a surprise."

"It's obvious." Parkinson said from where she sat, and waved her spoon around as she added, "I mean, _really_. Just because he's the _Dark Lord _doesn't mean he has all the time in the world. Besides striking fear into people who don't even bother _studying _what _our _world is really about, he has a lot to do."

"And how do _you _know that?" Hadrian groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He eyed Parkinson, unblinking, as she flipped through her book. Spoon still in hand. He opened his mouth, comment on the tip of his tongue, when Voldemort slapped his tail across his mouth and hissed, _'Shut up. I want to hear this.'_

_What the hell? _Hadrian tugged the tail away, but remained silent as Zabini answered in Parkinson's stead, "Have you forgotten our parents are either Dark, neutral, or one of his _supporters, _Granger?"

Hermione stilled, tensing, as Ron spat, "So you _are _evil bast-"

"Enough." Hadrian cut in, eyes narrowed, and Ron puffed up. The two regarded one another for several long moments, and then Ron deflated. The redhead cast a sharp, dark scowl at Zabini. The Italian, for his part, looked completely at ease in a room filled with ruffled lions. The other Slytherins filing in didn't even seem all that upset, and found seats in the slowly mixing class of Serpent and Lion. Zabini continued on as if he hadn't had a harsh Weasley about to cuss him out. "My mother, for instance, is known for her _countless _husbands. All whom which are dead."

"Except the recent one." Parkinson offered as she tore into some bacon. Zabini blinked, and Hadrian figured the teen was thinking the same thing he was before the taller boy sighed, and echoed, "_Except _for the recent one. Though I give him another month before he dies under some odd, and unusual, means."

"How can you say that?" Ginny was leaning into the desk, fists hitting the top of it with rage shining in her eyes. Nott, flipping a page in his book, muttered, "And how can _you _stand by while your father obsesses over muggles wanting to ruin our heritage?"

Another silence lingered, and this one, Hadrian noted, was wholly uncomfortable. Voldemort, scaled head brushing his cheek, hissed, _'The boy has a point on that, Potter. Or are you going to try and argue against Nott?'_

Muggles ruining magical culture. He furrowed his brow, and, as he sat watching the class, and Umbridge sitting at the front of the room, he finally said, "The ifs, buts, and hows can come later. This isn't the setting for such a discussion."

Umbridge offered an unsure smile, and he gave her a curt nod. The Blood Quill rested in his cloak, hidden in one of the inner pockets, and he leaned back in his seat as Malfoy stated, "Then we'll continue this later. In _Slytherin's _common room."

The blond turned there, conversation ended, and Hadrian inwardly chuckled. It seemed the serpents in Hogwarts were far from finished.

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"They were talking about...Voldemort in DADA?"

Severus wasn't sure what, exactly, he should say about this. He knew his Snakes were getting restless, but for Blaise to be so...open...did not bode well for anyone involved. Though he had noticed how the Italian and Theo were closing in on Granger, of all people. He wasn't sure if it was general interest, both being curious on how she managed to get close to Potter, or actual..._interest. _Salazar. He truly hoped it was the first, and _not _the second. Their parents would string them, _and _him, up if something like that fell into place.

Longbottom was getting a tad more comfortable with the Slytherins, and Dolores was acting out of character. Less 'hemming' and more 'please and thank you.' Even Minerva had picked up on it, and that woman was more than happy to keep the mad, pink-obsessed Ministry official as far from her as she was able. He truly hoped he didn't wind up hosting her till one in the morning again, but, as he watching the pacing Headmaster and the exhausted Transfiguration professor, he knew she'd show up.

When Albus was like...this...it was unavoidable.

"Yes, Voldemort." Albus sighed, and waved an elderly hand in the air. "I'm not sure _what _to do, Severus. Their parents made their choices. Merlin, I am sure _they've _made their decisions, but to bring it up so _open__ly _in the middle of Defense? What was the lad thinking?"

Sometimes he doubted if Zabini even _thought _before thinking. Severus ran a hand through his hair, and closed his eyes as Minerva said, "What's done is _done, _Albus. What is said cannot be unsaid. All we can do is hope Hadrian is able to keep his fellow Lions in line."

"He's just a boy, Minerva." Albus began, and Severus cut in, "No, Albus, he is _not _just a boy. He's a wizard with a highly dangerous serpent around his shoulders. A student _you _have yet to talk to!"

Minerva hummed her agreement, and Albus sighed. "Minerva, Severus, I'm placing my trust in him. Yes, what he has done is more than a little dangerous, but Hogwarts would allow no one inside her walls if they intended to harm the students."

Severus was not so convinced. Albus, as if sensing his thoughts, sighed. "Come, Severus, you should know all too well. Hogwarts was created from magic far more complex than any of us can even begin to grasp. Yes, Hadrian is carrying around a highly dangerous serpent. Yes, that is, in all actually, against the rules. However, I would much rather having our young Potter handling that serpent than having Monty running about wild and free and likely to bite a too curious student."

...and he also had a point, there. Not that he was going to admit to being wrong.

Severus rose to his feet, and, as he rolled his shoulder, he said, "Well, if you will excuse me, Headmaster, I have the most unlikely gathering to supervise in my Commons. Until later."

"Do make sure no one gets sent to the Infirmary, Severus."

Severus scowled. Since when did he need a _reminder _on how to handle his own House?

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Sunset.

There was something about that time, when the sun was slowly dropping towards the horizon, that made him want to step back and forget about...everything. It was a hard sensation to describe, but, as he stood in front of the Black Lake, it was one he could not shake off. Even with his friends behind him, and Voldemort wound around his ankles watching the water glow various shades of red, the yearning to vanish, to sink into the shadows and slip away from the world and everything in it, did not abate.

Instead...it got stronger.

He knew the Slytherins had gathered, and, like his Lions, they, too, remained quiet. Perhaps a mutual understanding was shared amongst them. His mind shifted towards the forest, where he had first ventured upon Voldemort, and, as he stood there, the snake in question hissed, _'You are filled with secrets, Potter. I had not anticipated this.'_

_'If this is your ploy to get me talking about the blood, it isn't going to work.'_ The Dark Lord hissed, and butted his head into his palm. Hadrian ran his nails over the scales, a soft smile ghosting across his face as he added, _'Though I did just bring it up again, so that is a rather void point, is it not?'_

_'Indeed.'_

Green irises shifted to the side, and he gaze down. Red met his inquiring gaze as Voldemort said, _'You bled, last week, and not once have I been able to drag an accursed answer out of you. So let us...bridge this gap, and come to an agreement.'_

_'What sort of agreement?' _The serpent wound around him, gliding through the grass, and the Dark Lord's voice carried to him as the man-now-snake said, _'I can offer you aid in many things. Your friends worry that your family is the source of your ire, and you are quick to refute the idea. Your teachers allow you to be slandered across the Daily Prophet. There are many...ways...I am able to help. And, if I am going to be stuck with you for an unknown length of time...'_

_'I get the point.'_ Hadrian ran a hand through his hair, the barest traces of pain lingering in his arm. His gaze shifted towards the serpent as he murmured, _'The question, however, is what you want in return.'_

In the end, that's what it boiled down to. Negotiations, inquiring minds, and relentless serpents who wanted to know a bit too much about him.


	11. Chapter 11

"Hadrian, my boy," Hadrian glanced up, blinking owlishly as Dumbledore ambled through the hallway. The rest of the students around him had already paused, the Slytherins' expressions masked. It was almost amusing with how much they disliked the Headmaster, though he figured they were in their right. Dumbledore did little to help them; even if the serpents didn't _ask _for the help, their Headmaster should have offered them a place to speak. To let their own thoughts known. Instead...

...instead, he let the rest of the school hate them.

It was knowledge that had his own expression shutting down, and he maintained a polite exterior as he replied, "Yes, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore paused. Hermione, arm looped with his and Ginny, arm around his waist, tensed as they picked up his emotions. The rest of the Lions were starting to glare, and he idly ran a hand down Hermione's shoulder as he said, "Can I help you with something? Slytherin and Gryffindor are about to have a long-needed heart-to-heart. Something about House unity."

Again Dumbledore blinked.

"I was hoping I could borrow you for a minute or two before you made your way into the dungeon." Around his feet, Voldemort flashed a sharp, electric green. The veins were brighter than normal, and neither girl made any movement as he glided between their ankles. He felt the Dark Lord's scaled head slipping between his arm, grazing his side, as the serpent hissed, _'He is lying. Whatever he wants, it will take more than a 'minute or two' of your time.'_

The others were watching with blanked expressions. Hadrian was rather surprised Neville was getting so good at hiding his own emotions, but, all things considered, he knew the quiet Lion had his reasons to dislike the aged wizard. Namely dealing with his own life at home. Ron, despite his own discomfort, had moved to stand in front of Parkinson and Greengrass, who had joined them on their way into the dungeons, with a dark scowl on his face.

Everyone was wary, a sense of distrust building.

_We're all aware Dumbledore does not approve of our mingling. _Draco, at the front of the Slytherins, finally spoke, "Forgive me for being _blunt, _Headmaster, but I am certain whatever you have to say to Hadrian can be said in front of us all."

Hadrian bit back the smile threatening to emerge as Dumbledore's magic flickered, and a hint of displeasure shown in those twinkling, blue eyes. Zabini was grinning, Merlin damn him, and Nott was scowling at his friend even as the dark-skinned wizard said, "Given by your stance, Headmaster, and the distance you are keeping from Hadrian, I'd dare guess this conversation you want to have is about Monty."

_'Who else would it be about?' _Hadrian inwardly agreed, though he suspected it wasn't the snake the man was interested. It was the wizard inside the snake. Whom he had no interest in talking about, Hadrian decided as Voldemort climbed to his shoulders. Long, thick coils draped down him, the cool body a steady presence, and the girls absently petted the scaled form as Hermione stated, "However, Headmaster Dumbledore, I do not think Professor Snape will be happy you are keeping us like this when he has already informed you of our gathering. Perhaps this conversation can wait until a later time when neither party is preoccupied with engagements already made?"

_'And I see why you like the girl.' _Voldemort flicked his tail, head rubbing his cheek, and Hadrian smiled. He was fond of Hermione.

"My _sister _is correct, Headmaster." Dumbledore's gaze shifted towards him as Hadrian stepped forward, intent on heading to the dungeons. He tugged Hermione and Ginny with him, smiling as he continued to speak, gaze focused on the white-haired man. "As it is, my friends and I are late. And I would rather not face detention with Snape for being tardy to a gathering in _his _territory. So if you will excuse us, we'll be on our way."

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The lad was so much like his mother, it was surprising.

Albus watched the mixed group vanished down a flight of stairs, the girls herded into the center, and felt his brow furrow. Lily. She had all four Houses wrapped around her finger before graduating, despite being muggleborn, and he was seeing the same draw within her son. A kind of magic which beckoned the others to his side, old and nameless but impossible to ignore. Impossible to resist. He was uncertain if Hadrian was aware of it, his draw on those around him.

Lily Evans. Red hair and green eyes. Always smiling. He recalled her scolding _Lucius _for being rude to one of the third year Hufflepuffs during their seventh year, and how, despite her fallout with Severus, the two became close once again. Not in the same way as before, but a sort of bond. An unconscious desire to pull closer, to be part of whatever she was instigating. Even James, hardheaded as he was, was pulled in without even realizing it. He suspected the _only _one who knew anything was Lupin, the wolf inside of him being of magic itself.

He remembered being young himself, and feeling that sort of draw. The curiosity that arose. The need to understand, to be closer, to analyze the source of that kind of magic. Someone he had loved dearly bore that kind of magic, a young girl who had died when he and his close friend clashed. A friend he had loved. A friend who had understood his pursuit for a legend buried in myth and fairytale.

Albus closed his eyes, shoulders slumping as the soft trill of music swept down the hallway. He turned, gaze on Fawkes, and followed the blazing trail of golden fire towards his tower.

He had much to think about.

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_'You do not give them enough credit.' _Hadrian sighed. He turned his gaze to the massive serpent laid across him, and the couch he sat upon, with a raised eyebrow. He didn't give _them _enough credit? He gave them all the _credit _he was able. Green irises lifted, and his gaze shifted towards the dark common room he, and the rest of his group, had found themselves settling into. Hermione was across the room, her gaze peering deep into the Black Lake on the other side of the glass wall at the far end of the common room, while Ginny was admiring the collection of stones making up the hearth. Neville was next to her, pointing out each stone and telling her the type and where in the world to find it. His gaze shifted to the red eyes staring intently at his face as he replied, _'I give them the credit due. Now, correct me if I am wrong, but I am rather certain Neville is crushing on Ginny.'_

Red eyes flickered towards the two in question, and the Dark Lord stayed still, silent, for a long while. Studying them. Watching their movements. Hadrian found it to be fascinating how such a cold man could study something, or _someone, _with that sort of intensity. And how, more often than not, it was _him _held under that intense stare. For once, it was nice to just observe the massive snake, to trace the myriad of scales, without some kind of biting remark. Green irises lifted, and he watched as Neville, a small rock in hand, took Ginny's hand and placed the rock. The shy Lion didn't let go after, and the two watched, awed, as their magic lit the stone up.

_'Lions are confusing.' _Voldemort finally stated, and Hadrian turned his gaze on the serpent on his lap as the rest of the Slytherins settled into the seats around him. They were without their outer robes, intent of being as comfortable as possible in the room, and Hadrian smiled. He didn't blame them. He, and his Lions, had already discarded their robes. Hermione was barefoot, her anklet letting off soft chimes with every movement. _'It is obvious Longbottom fancies Weasley, but he does nothing.'_

_'I would think it is due to the fact Ron is staring at them.' _Hadrian eyed the narrow-eyed Weasley staring the two Lions down like spiders invading his room. For the moment, he was content to ignore the Slytherins staring at him, and even Snape, dressed down to a pair of pants and a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Dark Mark on display, seemed to be more relaxed, and less sour, in his domain. Hadrian finally sighed, and turned his gaze to his professor just as the man finally said, "Are we just going to sit here, quiet, or are we going to talk?"

"It depends on when Draco decides to pick up where he left off in DADA."

"It's hard to start up a conversation when a massive lacrimosa is glaring at everyone around him."

Hadrian glanced down at Voldemort, and, sure enough, the Dark Lord was glowering. Well, as much as possible for a serpent to glower. Hadrian scraped his nails across the diamond-shaped head, a soft laugh escaping before he said, "Monty, dear, don't be _jealous_. It is unbecoming of a snake your caliber."

_'Bite me, Potter.'_

_'I'd rather not.' _Several were staring, once again, and Hadrian blinked. Right. That wasn't said in English. He absently jolted Voldemort into making room on the couch, already suspecting the current King of Slytherin would want to sit next to him, and, the moment the spot next to him was cleared, Draco plopped down. Draco. When he had began referring to Slytherins around him by their first names? Perhaps it was needed with them being invited into their Nest. Yes. That was about right. He pointedly ignored the arm draped across his shoulder, and focused more on the conversation as Draco began, "I believe we left off on muggles trying to exterminate our culture. Do correct me if I'm wrong, _Hadrian."_

First name basis it was. Hadrian gestured for the Lions to close in, and, within minutes, they were either draped across the chairs around them, or plopping down at his feet. Neville's back was against one leg, and Hadrian smiled as Hermione jumped, headfirst, into the conversation. "For muggles to exterminate _magical _culture, they would first need to be aware of its exist, _Draco_."

"Not true." Zabi-, no, Blaise, jumped in. The Italian was grinning, lavender eyes alight with mirth as he rested his arms across his knees. "Muggleborns are technically of the muggle world. They, yourself included, hold the same core beliefs muggles carry. Even if you're _not _aware of it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Ginny snorted. "Hermione, while being _muggleborn_, is as far from _muggle _as can be."

"That's a fat lie." Pansy bit, and Hadrian turned his gaze on her as he asked, voice soft, "So you're saying her knowledge of this world is incorrect, and that everything she has done to this point, from learning the magic of this world to the laws and customs, and slowly integrating them into her, and her _families _life, is a _muggle _thought process? A muggle way of belief?"

Hadrian ran his hand across Voldemort's side, and let his body sink into the couch.

His head, resting on the arm draped across a certain Slytherin's arm, tilted to the side as Pansy opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He plowed forward, eyes gleaming with a sort of darkness that had many of them on guard in a matter of seconds. "In fact, her family is in the process of learning about the history of this world so they can better understand why things are the way they are, and why this world is separated from theirs."

There was a flicker of surprise in the eyes around them. He caught Hermione's eyes, and smiled. There was awe in her gaze, the love of family, and the soft understanding of why he was bringing up her own family, and their way of living, to those around them. His gaze pulled away from hers as he continued, "They wanted to know how to ensure their only daughter has an environment where she can learn, and flourish, during the summer. So, if you want muggles to study who are trying to _kill _our culture...well, I can point you in the correct direction."

The Dursleys came to mind. Their mistrust. Their hatred. The punishments when his magic came out. Days locked in the dark, without food. Only allowed out to use the restroom, and a quick, icy shower. The lack of communication throughout his youth was difficult, but he had _other _companions. The spiders, for one. They didn't talk, but he knew they were always lurking nearby. Then there were the serpents, often hiding in the garden and their whispered words drifting through the house late at night. The only friends he had.

Then...his uncle's steady decline into madness, and the swift movements between that and utter hatred and alcohol-induced violence. High and low. Some days Vernon was tolerate of him. Would let him linger in the same room, as long as he was quiet, and would ignore him as he sat on the couch reading. Would overlook him when he helped his aunt prepare for a dinner party. Then there was the other moments, when the darkness rushed to the surface. The dark, cruel thing inside the man that was always there, lurking underneath. It was difficult to pinpoint where one began and another ended. When that darkness crept into his uncle's mind, and twisted it beyond repair, Vernon became...someone else. Hadrian wasn't sure if _magic _could do something like that.

Then there was the kids in his school before Hogwarts, mean and malicious little cretins. The teachers who had witnessed, firsthand, the existence of magic but had branded him the spawn of evil. Closed-off communities, places were a certain belief was dominate, was to blame. Cities were better. Mixed culture. Mixed beliefs. There, magic could happen, and most people would write it off. Places like the Dursleys home, and the area around it?

No. There, magic was a mark of evil. It was demonic. A thing only _sinners _had.

It took him a moment to realize everyone was staring at him. His cheek, nestled into an impossible soft shoulder clad in either silk or some other expensive cloth, was the source of the hand idly playing with his hair. As Voldemort, massive body winding tight around him, pulled him closer to the form next to him, Hadrian knocked back the dark and isolated memories of his youth into the tight, small box at the back of his mind. Remembrance was the last thing he needed. The magic-blessed people around him, however, could understood if he was careful. They _needed _to understand.

His Lions were watching him carefully, their gazes as intent as the Slytherins around them and the single pair of red eyes boring into his face. He offered a soft smile, and continued, "The different between muggles, and us, is the fact they lack magic and we do not. Other than that? They feel the same. They think the same, for the most part, and they can be as prejudiced and biased as any wizard or witch I have ever met. They can do good. And they can cause a world of harm. Hermione is fortunate to have grown up in a family where her magic was accepted, and loved, and allowed to flourish."

"And you?" Snape was the one who spoke, his tone so low, so calm, it was terrifying. He had forgotten about his professor, and, as his gaze shifted to the man, it was almost like whatever warmth in the room vanished. Black eyes stared him down, unblinking, with a kind of force that was impossible to look away from. Countless shades of _suspicion _shown in them, and Hadrian, offering a lopsided grin, stated, "My magic didn't come to the foreground until I got my wand. My family is a little more _closed _to understanding the gift I bear, but I cannot blame them for it. They were raised to...distrust anything outside of what they were taught to believe."

Lying. It was easy to do. Even as those dark eyes lessened, he saw them darken, and knew the suspicion only thickened.

And Voldemort, head resting in his lap, had yet to divert his attention.


	12. Chapter 12

"Sev," Draco's soft inquiry drew him from his thoughts, and he turned his gaze on his godson with a soft frown marring his features. Severus eyed the pale Serpent, his brow arching at the sight of Potter lying, sound asleep, against the nobleman's side, as he rose. Monty was still awake, pale form flickering a wide range of color from the fireplace, and those red eyes, so familiar as they were, shifted to him as he stopped next to Draco. He eyed the slumbering Lion, watching as the dark-haired youth's features flickered with awareness, and felt his frown deepen. Draco was soft-spoken when he continued, "I had never really though he could so easily defend muggles like we could our own kind. For so long, there has been _proof _muggles cannot exist peacefully with our own..."

And that was the heart of the issue, wasn't it?

Severus turned his gaze on Granger, the girl nestled between, to his utter dismay, Blaise and Theo. Her head and torso were on the Italian's lap, her middle across the couch, and her lap and legs across Theo. Both were awake; Blaise was resting with his arm around her shoulders, a book in hand, and Theo, arm across the back end, as much an issue as anything else, was staring intently as a snickering Pansy who was, much to his surprise, allowing Weasley to use her lap as a pillow. The chessboard next to them was sleeping, only a few pieces free from being smashed and destroyed. The boy was, dare he say it, a genus. Which was rather terrifying, now that he thought about.

And something that grated his nerves. The boy was a complete _slacker_. He knew they were all intelligent, and that they ensured they appeared average, but _that _was plain absurd. His gaze shifted back to Hadrian and the massive serpent trapping him against Draco's side, and felt a bubble of amusement. This was a near perfect recreation of a gather _he _had in his youth, only it was Lucius and _James _who were wedged together. He had Lily against his side, and Black and Lupin across their laps, and Lupin had _growled _at him when he attempted to remove Lily from the mess. Growled! Granted, it was _two days _before the full moon, but the point was still there. The wolf had growled at him.

Black had merely grumbled in his sleep, told him to not move Lily lest he wanted to get bitten by a grouchy alpha, and cuddled into his side.

The memory still gave him nightmares.

"It's hard to believe Hermione's family is so intent..." Blaise murmured, and Severus turned his gaze to his Serpent as the Italian frowned. He remained quiet as the fifth year teen continued, "To think she, and her family, have been going through our history, learning of our past and our wars, in hopes of better grasping what our own society is about."

"I feel like a bitch for even saying she's _muggle_." Pansy groaned from the sideline, and Severus shook his head. He had known Hermione was doing something along those lines. Minerva often talked about it in their late night discussions. And, thinking of said woman, his gaze shifted to the opening of his common room, and, sure enough, there she was. Several of the Slytherins in the room stared, and, as she closed the door behind her, bare shoulders wrapped in a red shawl, Severus realized she must have woken up, checked up on her Lions, and found a handful of them missing. How...embarrassing. He spelled the stool next to the hearth into a chair, and the Transfiguration professor sat herself down with a soft sigh. Severus sat across from her after spelling the cushions of Draco's couch, ensuring it was warm enough for the serpent drowning them in its coils.

A house elf popped in, a couple cups of coffee in hand, and the two teachers took it without word.

They were in for a long night.

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People were screaming.

Fire spread, a fast rush of magic lighting up the world, and Hadrian stood, fading in and out of the dream, with a sense of dread. He could smell the scent of burning flesh on the wind, and hear the screams of the innocent as something came crashing into the surface of the city. He wasn't sure _where _this was, but, as he stepped into the chaos, into the flames, he felt pain. It laced up his arm, and he turned his gaze on the scar, the words ablaze on his forearm.

_"I must not tell lies."_

His side burned, and he felt blood gliding down his skin. _Never forget. I must not tell lies._

Was this a punishment, then?

He eyed the Latin lettering scrawled into his forearm, and turned his gaze to the world burning around him. He lowered his arm, teeth grit, as he watched a shadowed, dark form cut through the sky. A massive shadow covered the ground, and, as he twisted, squinting, he caught sight of _something _in the sky. Large. Winged. A long, twisting tail. Dragon? Was this the magical world, or the muggle one? As he turned, gaze still on the dragon, he watched, eyes widening, as flames began churning in the dragon's maw before screaming through the skin, a massive orb of power, and destroying the ground it hit.

A wall of debris, shattering earth, and flame swept out in every direction like a tsunami galloping towards the shore of seaside countries.

Somewhere in the distance, a woman screamed. His brow furrowed, and he whirled, listening, as it rose. It was...familiar. Like he knew he should know it. Like he had heard it, like a dream within in a dream, and then he saw her, crazy black hair spilling around her as she was backed into a building, eyes wild with terror. A witch. A woman of Black origin, the usual madness he had read, the ever-repeating images showing insanity, gone.

And something was plowing across the ground, black and twisted and warped, towards her. He moved, his hand wrapping around her wrist, and he yanked her out of the way. The wall exploded, a sharp whipping through the air and cutting through his shoulder. He felt a flash of pain, smelt his own flesh burning and the blood boiling, as he yanked her down a burning path. Her hand clutched his, and her words, broken, were frantic.

She grabbed onto him. Her gaze caught his, and she staggered, eyes wild, as she cried. "I have to find him! My husband, I have to find my husband!"

"Bellatrix?" Hadrian grasped her forearm, nails biting into the Dark Mark branded into her flesh, and she shuddered. Her eyes focused, a sense of confusion lingering there, as he snapped, "You _are _Bellatrix, right?"

She opened her mouth, and then her gaze went over his shoulder. She screamed, and then pain.

It smashed into his back, a train without noise and without a track, and his body ignited.

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Nightmares, they plagued him endlessly.

He felt someone brushing his hair out of his face as he stirred, and green eyes blinked open, the world spinning, and found Hermione hovering over him. His head was on someone's lap, and, as he focused on the white mingling with her brown, he realized he had fallen asleep on Draco. Odd, really. Snape was kneeling next to her, dark eyes staring intently at his face, and Hadrian, sick to his stomach, groaned.

He _hated _nightmares.

He laid still as Voldemort slithered up his front, and a dark tongue flicked the skin on his face. It came away red, and, as his mind began catching up with the rest of him, the massive serpent hissed, at the same time Hermione spoke,

_'Your scar is showing, Potter.'_

"Hadrian, you're _bleeding!"_

He grunted, shoulder burning, as he sat up. He pressed his hand against the scar, the open wound burning when he applied pressure, and grunted, "I hadn't noticed."

"Potter..." Green eyes shifted towards black, and he caught his professor, and Head of House's, eyes as Severus said, "Your Curse Scar...is not _that _big."

"Apparently the thing on my face isn't a Curse Scar," he snipped, and pulled his hand away, scowling, the skin slick and red. "Really. Only _normal _scars bled for no reason. Now, if one of you would be so _kind _to get me something to stop the bleeding with, I would be _most grateful for the assistance."_

"I don't speak gibberish, Hadrian." Hermione stated, and Hadrian groaned. Right. Stress equals a continuous shift between Parseltongue and English. Ginny was next to him within a few moments, a damp cloth in hand, and he gladly took it. Pressing it against the open wound, his magic surging through his body, sealing the injury shut and dragging it back under the glamour it had torn free of, Hadrian frowned. He sat up fully, back and arm burning, but promptly ignored it. His arm was burning, the lettering on the forearm inflamed, and he was glad for the black sleeves covering _that _from sight. He tuned into the world around him as Ron snapped his fingers in front of him, and blinked as Neville repeated whatever question was asked. "What happened, Hadrian? Your magic began fluctuating, and then..."

"Then what?"

He wasn't sure if he wanted the answer, but, as they scooted away, he didn't need them to reply. Hermione's gaze was panicked. Everyone was awake.

"Then what?" Blaise sounded confused, eyebrows knitted together. The Slytherins wouldn't have noticed, not yet, but Draco, slumped on his back with him draped across him, was unnaturally still. Oddly quiet. Even Severus was frowning, and Hadrian, not caring he was using the blond as a makeshift bed, answered, "I woke them up. It...happens."

"Your magic woke them up?" Theo echoed, and Draco, finally, said, "Yes, it woke them up. I can _feel _it right now. And would you _get off _of me, Hadrian?"

"You're the one who wanted to sit next to me." Hadrian muttered, but took Hermione's hand as she offered it. He rose to his feet, the room swaying around him, and drew in a calming breath. Nightmare. Burning place. Bellatrix. Voldemort, gliding across the ground after him, curled around his legs. It wasn't long before the snake was around his shoulders and waist, squeezing ever-so-slightly, and hissed, _'Excuse yourself from their presence, Potter. Now.'_

He turned his gaze to the twin sun staring at him, and ran a hand through his hair. The scar was done bleeding, and, after a long moment, finally said, "It would seem Monty needs to get outside before _he _looses it. And, from what I've heard, a lacrimosa's magic can be quite dangerous."

The rest of the room scattered, and Hadrian made his escape.

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Hermione fidgeted. Questions were raging in the Slytherins, her Head of House was shaken and pale, and Hadrian had, in every sense of the situation, just ran away. Lacrimosa aside, he had fled. And fast. He was calm. Annoyed, but calm. Perhaps due to the blood, and the scar emerging in front of everyone. The subject was a sensitive one, and he didn't like people inquiring about it. Or _looking _at the source of the subject matter either, for a matter of fact. She frowned.

"I was under the impression the Curse Scar he had was...smaller."

Hermione snorted. She turned to the Slytherins around her, eyebrow arched, as she replied, "And why would it be _smaller?"_

They stared. She didn't like it when people looked at her like she was an idiot, and, when no one offered anything within a few seconds, she continued, "Hadrian is the _only _person who survived the Killing Curse. Dumbledore thinks it's solely his _mother's _influence behind that, but we're all rather certain that's _half _of what went down. However, what do you _know _about the Killing Curse?"

"It's the only spell to kill instantly, and there's no counter." Nott replied, after a moment, and Hermione grinned. "So how did _Hadrian _cause it to backfire?"

"Lily's love, if Albus is to be believed..." Snape was frowning, gears turning. Hermione grinned. She sat on the couch, Ginny plopping down next to her, and she let her gaze slide between the students present. Her gaze finally fell on her Potions professor, and she directed her next question at him. "You've seen the curse, and how it kills. It leaves no mark, correct?"

"That is correct." He confirmed, and McGonagall, frowning, asked, "Where are you going with this, Hermione?"

The curly-haired witch eyed the fireplace, a frown on her face, and watched the fire dance. She turned her gaze to the adults as she asked, "So, by all accounts, if the Killing Curse leaves no mark on those it kills, it shouldn't have left a mark on Hadrian either. However, _no one _should be able to survive, but he did the impossible. He's the 'Boy-Who-Lived,' after all, though I advise you never call him that. He hates that title."

"So something _else _gave him that scar?" Parkinson asked, and Hermione sighed. She gave them all an even stare as she said, "The Killing Curse leaves no mark, it cannot be blocked by _anything_ in enough time to actually matter, and is the most deadly, and Dark, spell we are aware of."

Her gaze shifted between them all, and, seeing the deep lines of thought on everyone's face, she asked, "So, the night Voldemort tried to kill Hadrian, not only had something blocked the spell, it threw it _back _at him, destroyed the Dark Lord's body, and left a massive scar on my friend's face. And, from my limited knowledge, there is only _one _force in existence that has _that _kind of power."

Snape's eyes widened as she asked, "So you tell me. What kept him alive that day? Perhaps that might tell you _why _the scar he has exists."

And _'why it's so prominent' _was left unsaid, but it lingered in everyone's mind.

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_'Explain yourself, boy!' _Hadrian whirled around on the serpent the moment they were out of Hogwarts's range. The Forbidden Forest surrounded them, the woodland tense and hushed, and he was far from _willing _to explain _anything _to a massive snake five times his size. And growing, apparently, because the lacrimosa _was _getting larger. Veins of color moved, branching off, and something akin to _spikes _were erupting down the massive serpent's back. Did lacrimosa _change shapes _as well? Or was this form created entirely by magic, and able to change appearances at will? It was...an alarming thought. Pushing the thought away, Hadrian grit his teeth, and met the serpent's gaze. "I will _not _explain myself, Riddle. Not to _them, _and certainly _not to you."_

The nightmare lurked in the back of his head.

Chaos inside his own head. A dream _Bellatrix _had been within, scared and desperate and shaken.

And, it seemed, his words were the last thing Riddle wanted to hear. One moment, there was a snake across from him, and the next he was slammed to the ground, claws cutting through the earth around him, and a diamond-shaped head, with venom dripping from the fangs, was eating through the ground next to his face. His mind froze, thoughts haunting, as a scaled, muscled _arm _kept him trapped to the ground. His dream slapped him in the face, fast and hard, as he recalled the winged, massive dragon flying through the sky. The chaos it had rained upon the earth.

And Voldemort's earlier words, just shy of a week ago, came back to him.

_"'__The actual event itself is outside of my memory. I can tell you that I, and many of my closest followers, were investigating an old ruin when it happened.'"  
_

His mind slammed forward, breaking through the shocked confusion, as he stared up at the _creature _Voldemort had been turned into. His mind returned to the knowledge Hermione had given him, that _lacrimosa _were the Darkest creatures, and little was known about them _because no one lived _after encountering them. No one knew of their mating habits. Of their birthing habits, of how, or when, they would get bigger. Or how they had _magic_. As he laid there, unable to move, staring into the furious red eyes of a _Dark Lord, _pieces of information began to churn, to twist, inside his mind.

Absently running a hand over a talon curved around his shoulder, the width wider than his _arm_, he asked, "You don't remember _anything _about what happened to you, or your followers, or Bellatrix, inside that ruin you were all investigating?"

Riddle, who appeared momentarily stunned by his own transformation, turned burning red eyes back onto his face.

_'I never said Bellatrix was there.' _Riddle's eyes narrowed, hot and angry. Hadrian recalled the dream, the desperation, and the sicking terror. He recalled how he had informed everyone, on the day Riddle had come into his care as a massive snake, he was the _only _one who could "control" the serpent due to the fact they spoke the same language. The open hostility the school had instead of the fear, the way Dumbledore had watched him, the wary eyes of the professors, the way people seemed overly curious. "Do not_ ignore _me, Potter!"

"You spoke English..." Hadrian gaped, complete disbelief showing, and the Dark Lord paused. A deep, dark red tongue came out of his mouth, so dark it was almost black, and Hadrian frowned. Why the sudden change? Why now? The first _month _wasn't even over, and already things were getting out of hand. And here he had hoped things would get _better _before they got worse. "Riddle, you spoke _English."_

And Riddle, Dark Lord of the Century, did the last thing Hadrian had ever though possible.

He began laughing.


	13. Chapter 13

"No! Absolutely not!" Hadrian dunked under the snake-wyrm-whateverthefuck Riddle had become, and rounded a tree. Behind him, there was a rush of magic, and he knew whoever had decided to give a _Dark Lord _the power of a lacrimosa was a sadistic asshole out to get him. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Riddle hit something, followed by a string of curses, and Hadrian, for the first time in his life, wondered how he ever thought it _possible _to pull one over the man. Riddle has been around far longer than him, and, if the infuriated red-eyed wizard's temper was anything like Hadrian knew it to be, the entire prospect of Hadrian having knowledge about what could have happened to the Dark Lord and his followers -

"Potter, I am _not _in the mood to play _tag _with an idiot child!" And there were the insults, once again, he had thought they had gotten past. Leaping over a log, and dunking under a branch, Hadrian tried to ignore the sound of a groaning, splintering tree. He heard the Dark Lord cursing in parseltongue as he retorted, "I don't know what you're talking about! And _I'm _not the dragon-thing chasing a kid half my age! And they say men have performance issues the older they get!"

The sound Riddle gave out reminded him of a teakettle overheating.

He really didn't see the issue. He had a dream about Bellatrix and her MIA husband. How was _he _to know she was with Riddle when they all went missing? Why did everyone seem to _assume _he was omni-_fucking_-scient? He wasn't! Not that his protests, directed at an infuriated Dark Lord, mattered. The man had a horrid temper, and, now he was larger and didn't have to ride on_ his _shoulders, the man was able to let out all that pent-up frustration. He was halfway around a bend when he heard the Dark Lord hiss, _'And you have yet to answer why you have a Blood Quill, of all things, in your possession!'_

And there was that too. Hadrian winced, jumped another log, and silently wondered how Riddle learned of that.

Oh. Right. It was called "mind reading." Damn Slytherin asshole, and his one-too-many powers.

"Really, Riddle, you're throwing this _way _out of proportion." He called over his shoulder, and he was answered, once again, with a line of expletives coming from the enraged man-snake...dragon? Who would have thought the elder wizard could cuss like that? Though Hadrian suspected the man was in the right, on this, but he was more than eager to ignore that. He really was. Riddle, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. He was halfway down a twisting path when a sharp blur of white and green came from above, and slammed into the ground. Skidding to a halt, and slamming into Riddle's chest, scales biting into exposed flesh, Hadrian groaned under his breath. It was official. He preferred the Dark Lord in a form where he couldn't _jump _over him. A tail curled around his legs, trapping him, and a voice broke into his thoughts. _'Out of proportion, Potter? This is insanity. Now, I want answers, and, Salazar help you, boy, if you don't comply.'_

Enraged Dark Lord, twelve'o'clock. Right in his face.

And to think he was _laughing _less than an hour ago.

Fingers biting into the...lacrimosa's?...chest, Hadrian exhaled. He refused to look up, not when he was certain a pair of red eyes were boring into him. He tried to ignore the way the creature's body flexed, hard muscle rippling with every breath. Peeking over the shoulder, he was more than a little happy to see there were _no _wings. So lacrimosa weren't dragons, but were they, perhaps, a distant relative? He wasn't sure. He didn't want to ask. How was he to get out of _this _mess when Riddle had arms and legs and claws? He didn't like the thought of getting penned to the ground.

He was running out of options.

Hadrian shifted, stiffening when the tail tightened, and silently cursed the wizard. He should have seen if he could find anything _else _on lacrimosas. Other than the Ron and Hermione knew about them, or the very few books in the school. If a lacrimosa was a Dark creature, then wouldn't someone with an affinity for Darkness have looked it up? Make notes? Went looking...

Hadrian's mind slowed, and, as his brow twitched, he turned his gaze on the red eyes staring him down.

"You knew." He breathed, and the evolved lacrimosa did nothing to negate his words. "You knew you could change into _this, _whatever _this _is, and you didn't tell me a damn thing about it!"

"You didn't ask."

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He has nightmares, but not normal nightmares.

Draco sat, slowly, as a frown began to mar his features. McGongall was off to the left, by the fire still, but the Transfiguration professor looked more than a little drawn. More than a little tired. Ginny and Neville were sitting next to her, each using the stone stab sticking out of the hearth as a seat, and both were frowning. Hermione was pacing. Her mouth was moving, but whatever she was saying was too soft for any of them to hear. And none of them really wanted to cut in, not when she looked so focused. Ron, head still in Pansy's lap, had an arm draped over his face.

For the first time in his life, Draco was willing to admit he was...confused. A little lost. Uncertain.

He didn't know what to do. His gaze shifted towards the others in his own Hose. Blaise and Theo were deep in conversation, one looking distinctly disgruntled and the other lacking any expression. Closed off, but mind running a hundred miles a minute. Theo had always been like that. Daphne, who had joined them at some point during the night, sat huddled in her chair. She pulled the blanket she wore tighter around herself, gaze distant. Draco supposed all of them were sharing the same thoughts, the same feelings, and, after a while, he heard his godfather sigh. That was followed by Snape sitting down, and his voice breaking the silence.

"Potter is barely over fifteen years old." He began, and Hermione, who was still pacing, slowed. Her gaze turned to her professor as he continued, "So like his mother, Potter. Caring. Stubborn. He even has her drive to keep the people he cares about safe...even if its from himself..."

Draco shared a look with Blaise. The Italian held up a hand, lavender eyes on their Head of House. Snape turned his gaze on McGonagall, and, despite their preference, asked, "When you and Albus took Potter to Lily's sister..."

"I told him, rather bluntly, I thought it was a horrid idea."

Should they even be talking about this in front of them?

Ron, turned his attention to the two, snorting, as he said, "Hermione or I could have told you that."

"Mr. Weasley?"

The redhead sat up, and, after a long moment, relented, "In our third year, Fred, George, and I picked him up. Do you remember what we told the Headmaster, _Professor _Snape?"

"His widows were barred." His godfather replied instantly. Ron gave a very dark, grim smile, something which did _not_ belong on the redhead's face, as he replied, "Yes. There were _bars _on his window. Supposedly to keep Hedwig from flying around during the day, despite the knowledge owls are _nocturnal, _but it went beyond that."

They really shouldn't be talking about this. Draco was uncomfortable, the warning in Hadrian's eyes coming to mind. Whenever the topic of _'home' _came up, the dark-haired Lion was always quick to shut it down, or cut in. Yet that would imply the boy was lying about his own home and his life there. He had, not all that long ago, stated, rather openly, his family was _only_ close-minded. Which was an obvious lie. Anyone could have seen _that _without knowing him.

But...no one did? Had he, himself, not thought him to be a spoiled, and yet oddly withdrawn, celebrity? Had his father not gone on about how _'those muggles' _would raise Potter...would raise Hadrian like a lord? Had his mother not tsked when the Lion was brought up, and so obviously displeased by his ruffled attire? Yet never once had he, outright, heard them _confirm _Potter was raise as a spoiled child because _no one _knew what his life at home was like?

His magic hadn't manifested until he got his wand, the Gryffindor stated. His family _distrusted _anything outside of what was normal in their own eyes.

A message hidden between truth and lie. How could _he _have been so daft? _Malfoy _or not, Draco knew something like this...shouldn't have went unnoticed.

But it had. He groaned. Kneading his brow, Draco let his gaze roam the room.

"Does he talk about Petunia?" Snape questioned, and Draco was left wondering who _Petunia _was. Lily's sister, if he was right, but how would Snape know her name? And why would he bring up a muggle woman? Settling into his seat, he merely listened as Hermione stated, "She leaves him alone. Keeps to herself, more often than not."

"And her...husband?"

No one answered. Hermione merely turned away, unwilling to say whatever was on her mind. All the Lions were sharing the same look. The same unwillingness, the same dark scowl on their faces. Draco frowned, the action clear and defined. The mask slipped, sliding from his face, from his eyes, as he carefully folded his hands in his lap. Hadrian Potter was...a mystery. Lions, they were easy to read. Their expressions, and thoughts, displayed so openly. Expect Hadrian. He was as much a Serpent as he was a Lion, an enigma and a person the rest of the world subconsciously gravitated towards.

He was a parseltongue. Yet he was thought to be purely of the Light, and the trait he bore, embodied readily in the form of a dangerous snake, was about as _Dark _as one could get. Parseltongue, however, wasn't Dark. It was neutral. Much like magic itself, he supposed. A simple charm for levitation was considered to be more Light than nothing else, but, should it be _used _for darker purposes, a simple spell could lift someone off the ground and send them falling off the top of Hogwarts Tower.

Draco started when Blaise and Theo sat on either side of them. Hair mused, the blond noble sighed. "We've been wrong this entire time."

"We suspected..."

Draco shot a dark glare at the Italian, and Blaise snapped his mouth shut as Draco stated, _"Suspecting _is one thing. Yet to have our own smallest, and darkest, thoughts proven true when we tried so hard to dismiss it...because it should be _impossible_...Salazar..."

They were fools. He would never admit it out loud, but in the privacy of his own thoughts...

...inside his own mind, he could admit the truth.

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"A dream." Hadrian slowly edged around the red-eyed behemoth, green eyes intent. Voldemort turned with him, insistent on keeping him in his line of sight the entire time, and Hadrian, to his growing discomfort, couldn't bring himself to tell the wizard to look somewhere else. That amount of focus, so intensively focused on him and _him alone, _was oddly...flattering? _'You knew Bellatrix was there _from a dream?"

A long tail swayed through the air, snaking through the grass like a separate entity. "It was _only _a dream, Riddle. Can we focus on something _else?"_

The Dark Lord snorted. Or was that a laugh?

"Right after we talk about what you _dreamed _of." The older wizard retorted, and Hadrian found himself face-to-face with that diamond-shaped head once again. What was it with magical beings having no personal boundaries? Hadrian leaned away, scowling, as he snapped, "I already told you about the stupid thing, Tom! What _else _is there to know?"

"Your nightmares." Merlin, the man was on his case like a concerned parent, friend, or lov-_hell no, not going there! _Hadrian balked, kicked the thought into the darkness of his thoughts, and turned on his heel. "Not having this conversation. Not here. Not now. Not today. Not _ever_."

"You can speak of this with your _friends, _but yet not to me?"

Voldemort, Tom Riddle, Dark Lord...had the gall to sound hurt. Or insulted. Was he _mocking _him?

Hadrian knocked aside a limb, scowling as he took in his surroundings. Where, exactly, was he at anyway? It wasn't the usual part of the Forbidden Forest, he noted, and he didn't sense any of the local wildlife he was use not. Not even Hagrid's eight-legged friends were near, which was odd in and of itself. They seemed to like him, to a certain extent. He was sure it had something to do with getting away in a magic car his second year.

Behind him, he heard the steady weight of the Dark Lord following. The crunch of branches snapping underfoot. The swish of parting grass. The rumbling growls which signals the wizard's steady dying patience. He was rather certain the man was bipolar, but wasn't _entirely _sure on how to bring _that _topic up in a conversation. Anything he tried in his own mind sounded beyond ridiculous. Perhaps Hermione might be able to help him wiggle that topic into a conversation at one point. It would be worth a shot, he supposed.

Or maybe not. He didn't like the idea of Riddle attempting to rampage in a school of children. Oath or not.

"Potter, I do not like being ignored."

"Get over it." Hadrian shot back. "Consider it a _life lesson_. You can't get what you want all the time."

And there was the teakettle, once more. It seemed his best quality, from his limited experience, was _'pissing off Dark Lords.' _


End file.
